


A Question of You

by CosmicZombie



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 87,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2465483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicZombie/pseuds/CosmicZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It somehow bothered Jimmy more than he cared to admit that he still didn't really know Thomas any better than he had done on the day of the fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

It was something which had happened so slowly that Jimmy had barely even noticed it until it suddenly crushed him and he couldn’t breathe. 

But if he had to choose the moment where it begun, he knew exactly which moment he’d pick. It was several months earlier in late October, on a night like any other. Midnight had howled around the house and shattered rain against the darkened windows of the servants’ hall, where Jimmy had thought he was the only one left. His ached with tiredness, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop messing about on the piano, fingers still fumbling out chords and half-melodies when the sudden, heady smell of smoke curled through the air, making him turn around in surprise. 

The servants’ hall was dimly lit and deserted— apart from Thomas. The other man was still sitting at the table, and had been leaning back in his chair, eyes shut, smoke curling from between his lips— but his eyes flickered open at the sudden silence, surprisingly vivid against the pallor of his face.

“My mother used to play that,” he said quietly, taking a slow drag of his cigarette and glancing briefly over at Jimmy, who watched the smoke unfurl around the other man in enigmatic tendrils, letting his fingers hover uncertainly over the piano keys.

“Every night,” Thomas added, exhaling slowly so that the smoke coiled round him more thickly. “When I was meant to be asleep.”

It struck Jimmy with surprising intensity that this was the first time in their few shaky months of friendship that Thomas had said anything remotely personal— normally they just laughed at Alfred or discussed how boring the main articles in the newspapers were or concocted ideas about Lady Mary’s latest conquests. Jimmy always talked about himself; not big things, just silly little things like how he hated Mrs. Patmore’s rice pudding or the dream he’d had last night or what he was reading— but Thomas never talked about himself. Not ever. 

It somehow bothered Jimmy more than he cared to admit that he still didn’t really know Thomas any better than he had done on the day of the fair.

He wasn’t quite sure why. Jimmy couldn’t have predicted it when he made the guilty offer of friendship, but Thomas had come to fascinate him; Jimmy had never met anyone who was quite like him. His expression was always so carefully emotionless, and he rarely gave anything away. It was only when he was caught off guard— when he smiled or laughed or was caught by surprise— that Jimmy caught the smallest of glimmers of what was underneath the careful mask. 

Jimmy hated that he couldn’t figure Thomas out at all, couldn’t understand him one little bit. The more time he spent with Thomas, the closer he felt to him— yet the less he understood him. All he knew was that he couldn’t but help feel an increasing curiosity towards the other man; a desperation to know more of the glimmers of sincerity that occasionally evaded Thomas’ careful façade.

“You realise that’s the first thing you’ve ever told me about yourself,” Jimmy announced, turning around properly and sitting cross-legged on the piano stool so that he was facing Thomas. 

“Is it?” Thomas’s tone was expressionless through the smoke. 

“You know it is,” Jimmy rolled his eyes. 

“What of it?” Thomas asked impassively, eyes flickering to hold Jimmy’s for a moment. “I don’t remember vowing to tell you all my worldly secrets the moment we became friends.” There was the tiniest edge to his voice. 

Jimmy rolled his eyes again. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Thomas just shrugged, expression unchanging— but he slid his box of cigarettes across the table towards Jimmy. 

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, taking one and lighting it, letting the smoke fill his lungs and spill out into the air around him. He’d never really smoked before he’d become friends with Thomas, and it still hurt his lungs a little if he inhaled too deeply. 

For several moments, they just smoked in silence, the only noise the autumnal rain that still battered against the windows, lost in the darkness. Jimmy watched Thomas with interest as the other man carefully put the box of cigarettes back in his pocket and continued to smoke with ease. Jimmy couldn’t help but think jokingly that Thomas was as intangible as the smoke that clouded the air between them.

“What else did she play?” Jimmy ventured after several moments. 

“What’s it to you?” Thomas asked evenly, raising his eyebrows slightly at Jimmy’s question. 

Jimmy sighed, waving his cigarette impatiently. “Don’t you think it’s a little peculiar that we’ve been friends for months and I don’t know the first thing about you?”

“I don’t know the first thing about you, either,” Thomas countered, tapping his cigarette over the ash tray. “Not really.”

“You never asked,” Jimmy shrugged, taking a drag of his cigarette and feeling the slight burn of the smoke in his lungs.

“I’m asking now,” Thomas said quietly, eyes impassive in the dim light. 

“Well, if I answer your questions, you have to answer mine,” Jimmy said, determined to figure Thomas out, even just a little— even if only to stop himself mulling it over all the time. 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Thomas asked softly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Jimmy frowned, flicking ash in the direction of the ash tray on the table between them. 

“Well, let’s just say that I find the less people know about me, the more likely they are to like me,” Thomas said coolly, expression impassive. He took a final drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out, blowing smoke slowly up into the shadows.

“That’s ridiculous!” Jimmy exclaimed, choking slightly. 

“Is it?” Thomas asked calmly, eyes glittering in the lamplight of the servants’ hall.

“Yes!” Jimmy said insistently. 

Thomas just raised his eyebrows sceptically.

“What, are you scared, Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy found himself challenging. 

“Definitely not,” Thomas replied, eyes catching Jimmy’s in a way that suddenly made Jimmy feel as though he was under a spotlight. It was ironic; Thomas might have pointed out he knew nothing about Jimmy, but Jimmy often felt as though Thomas could know everything about him— including the things he did not know himself— with just one look. He just wished he could do the same with Thomas, but Thomas was utterly unreadable. 

“Are you?” Thomas’ smooth voice startled Jimmy from his thoughts, making him choke slightly on his inhale. Thomas was looking at him questioningly, the smallest hint of amusement colouring his tone. 

“Of course I’m not!” Jimmy retorted indignantly. “Why on earth would I be scared? Ask me whatever you wish, Mr. Barrow,” he said defiantly, ignoring the way his heart was nudging at his ribs. 

Thomas said nothing, just raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“Right, I’ve got a bet for you,” Jimmy announced triumphantly, finishing his cigarette. “For the next twenty days, we each have to answer one question the other asks— the first one to back out owes the other a month’s supply of cigarettes.” He didn’t care whether he had to answer Thomas’ questions in the process— he was determined to satisfy his curiosity about the other man by whatever means he could.

For a moment, Thomas considered him, grey eyes utterly unreadable in the dim light and the remnants of the smoke that curled around them. Then—

“Deal.”

~

 

The following day was particularly busy in preparation for a visit from Lord Gillingham, and consequently Jimmy barely saw Thomas until dinner, which he found endlessly frustrating. He’d awoken with an underlying excitement that had made him restless and fidgety all day with impatience— the same kind of eager, jittery feeling he used to get before Christmas when he was young. It was the feeling of waiting for something he’d been anticipating for ages; Jimmy had been trying to figure Thomas out for weeks and now that he finally had the opportunity, a few extra hours felt like eternity. Every time he caught sight of Thomas in the kitchen or in the upstairs hall he’d want to go and ask him questions, but it was impossible in the bustle of preparations.

Dinner dragged on hopelessly; Mr. Carson was criticising Alfred and Jimmy’s work on the second floor gallery for the majority of the meal, so Jimmy didn’t even get the chance to look at Thomas— he just kept his eyes on his Sheppard’s pie and tried to let Mr. Carson’s voice wash over him.

By the time Mr. Carson switched to discussing the wine list for the following evening with Mrs. Hughes, dinner was almost over, and Jimmy looked up eagerly from the remnants of his pie to see Thomas slipping out into the yard, cigarettes in his uninjured hand. 

“May I be excused to get a little fresh air?” Jimmy directed the question to Mrs. Hughes, knowing she was more likely to agree. 

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Hughes said distractedly, barely looking up from the wine list. “Don’t be long, though, there’s plenty more to be done before the evening’s over.”

With the sense of excitement curling in the pit of his stomach, Jimmy grabbed his glass from the table and made his way through the kitchen and out into the yard after Thomas. 

Jimmy shivered as he stepped out into the dusk, wrapping his jacket more closely round himself as he approached Thomas. The night air was sharp and cold in comparison to the steamy heat of the kitchen, and the stars were out in the loneliness of the sky, cold and remote. Thomas was standing a little way across the yard, leaning against the wall and smoking silently, staring up at them. 

“When did you start smoking?” 

Thomas looked around in surprise, eyes illuminatingly grey in the dusk. Jimmy distantly thought that they reminded him of snow; fragile, fleeting, untouchable. He had loved the snow when he was little— until he held it in his hands and it melted and made Jimmy cry because it made him realise nothing was as he thought it was. 

Still shivering slightly, Jimmy crossed the remaining few feet between himself and Thomas and came to a halt just in front of the other man, tasting smoke in the icy air. 

“That’s your question,” Thomas stated in disbelief, frowning at Jimmy.

“The first one, yes,” Jimmy replied, casually taking the cigarette from Thomas’ long fingers and shivering at their surprising warmth. “Go on then,” he mumbled around the cigarette, taking a drag and handing it back to Thomas. “Answer it.” 

Thomas shook his head slightly in a bemused manner. “As you like. I started smoking around ten years ago.” 

Jimmy watched him take a brief drag of the cigarette he’d put his own lips to moments before and exhale into the cold night air, the muscles under the pale skin of his throat contracting and relaxing. 

“And I thought you were going to ask me something horrendous,” Thomas remarked, lips quirking slightly as he fixed Jimmy with a subtly amused look. "And instead you ask me about cigarettes." 

“Ten years?” Jimmy repeated questioningly, watching the smoke seep from between Thomas’ lips and vaporise as the ice of the air crushed it. He was still cold, he realised— his hands as numb as they had been all those years ago when they’d melted the snow.

Thomas threw the cigarette to the cobbled floor and ground it under his heel. “That’s what I said.”

“When you started working at Downton,” Jimmy stated, studying Thomas with interest.

“Around that time, yes,” Thomas said impassively. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to attend to his Lordship.”

“What about my question?” Jimmy demanded as Thomas crossed the yard briskly. 

Thomas paused in the doorway of the kitchen, shadowed by the yellow light that spilled out of it into the night.

“Be patient. I’m working on it,” he replied, amusement lacing his words as he ducked back inside, leaving Jimmy standing out in the sharp October dusk with the smoke from Thomas’ cigarette still clinging to his lungs.

 

~

 

It was well after midnight and Jimmy was re-reading yesterday’s paper in the dim lighting of the servants’ hall when he dimly registered the familiar heady scent of cologne and smoke and looked up to see that Thomas had slipped into the seat beside him. 

“Here,” Thomas said, offering Jimmy a steaming mug of cocoa before taking a sip of his own and leaning back in his chair, pushing a hand through his inky black hair.

“Thanks,” Jimmy said gratefully, setting down the newspaper and taking a gulp of the steaming drink. “I’m bloody shattered.”

“Go to bed, then,” Thomas said, stifling a yawn. Thomas late at night was as closer to the glimmers Jimmy occasionally got whenever Thomas was caught off guard— it was as though by this point, the day had gradually worn off the sharp corners of his manner. He looked softened, somehow— just subtly. Maybe it was because his livery was slightly creased from working all day or his hair was no longer so neatly slicked back, or maybe it was because it tended to just be the two of them left up when it was this late and out of everyone, Thomas seemed most at ease with Jimmy. 

“No, I want to hear your question first,” Jimmy mumbled, setting down the mug and rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

“Okay.” Thomas paused, taking a sip of cocoa from his own mug and looking at Jimmy with a typically impassive expression that both frustrated and fascinated him. “Why don’t you even give Ivy the time of day?”

Jimmy blinked in surprise. “Ivy?”

“That’s what I said,” Thomas said, taking another sip. Jimmy watched him swallow and set the mug down on the tabletop, though his long fingers stayed curled round the handle. “She’s gorgeous, she’s funny, she’d do anything you wanted, and you know it.”

Jimmy struggled for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know… She just doesn’t interest me.”

“That’s not a very interesting answer,” Thomas remarked.

“Well, I’m not a very interesting person,” Jimmy countered, feeling vaguely annoyed for reasons he couldn’t quite place. 

“I don’t know about that,” Thomas said, and the tone of his voice had softened slightly. Jimmy looked up, but Thomas had drained the last of his cocoa and was standing up abruptly. “Well, I’m going to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day and I’ll need a few hours decent sleep to be able to deal with Mr. Carson. Night Jimmy.”

“Wait up, I’m coming too,” Jimmy sighed, pushing himself to his feet and following Thomas out of the servants’ hall and up that stairs, trying without success to shift the uneasy feeling of confusion. He distractedly wished Thomas goodnight when they reached the landing and went to his room, closing the door softly behind him. He could distantly hear Thomas doing the same across the hall, and frowned, slumping down at his vanity and staring at himself in the looking glass.

His blonde hair was vaguely tousled and his eyes weighed down with dark circles, and he found Thomas’ question echoing in his head as he stared at himself. Why wasn’t he interested in Ivy? He’d never thought about it before, but now that he did, it suddenly bothered him immensely. She was the type of girl Jimmy would have gone for in a heartbeat before he’d come to Downton, but now he found he genuinely didn’t care. She just wasn't interesting to him. 

Suddenly, Jimmy felt as though he knew himself even less than he knew Thomas. 

Shaking his head, he got up and splashed his face with water before stripping off his livery and pulling on his pyjamas, trying to shift the unsettled feeling that made him frown at his reflection as though it was someone else. With a heavy sigh, he sunk down on the edge of his bed, forcing himself to push his unease to the back of his mind and instead consoled himself with the prospect of thinking up his next question for Thomas. He couldn't help but feel the return of the jittery excitement that he'd woken up with that morning at the thought of beginning to understand even the tiniest little thing about Thomas, and it was with a smile that he blew out the candle on his bedside table, letting it go dark all around him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy felt as though he hadn’t really understood anything more about Thomas at all— it was as if asking the questions only made him realise how little he truly knew the other man— and how much he wanted to.

 

Jimmy slept badly. The sound of rain battering against the windowpane had kept him tossing and turning restlessly all night, his brain full of half-formed questions and non-existent answers. Consequently, he’d overslept and only just managed to scramble down to breakfast on time, head aching dully with lack of sleep.

As he slid hastily into his seat at the busy breakfast table, he could feel Mr. Carson’s disapproving glare on him, and wished he’d had the time to comb his hair more effectively. He knew he knew he looked awful; his golden hair was rumpled, his jacket askew, and his eyes were weighed down with a purple sleeplessness that was as bruising as the questions which had plagued him into the early hours of the morning. 

“Sleep well, James?” Mr. Carson asked pointedly as Jimmy hurriedly helped himself to tea and toast.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Carson,” Jimmy lied, gulping his tea too quickly and scalding his tongue. He winced, setting the mug down and brushing his dishevelled hair out of his eyes. It was only then that he noticed Thomas’ gaze on him. Thomas was sitting in the seat opposite, the morning newspaper spread out in front of him— but his eyes were on Jimmy. The moment Jimmy met his gaze, Thomas looked away as if he’d been burnt, the smallest tinge of colour on his cheekbones as he turned the page of the newspaper, his long, pale fingers fumbling slightly. 

Jimmy had used to feel intensely uncomfortable and guilty whenever he caught Thomas looking at him, but now it was something subtly different— something that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, even though it made his stomach twist. Part of it was that Jimmy liked knowing Thomas shared more of himself with Jimmy than anyone else; it made him feel more justified in wanting to understand the other man better. But the other part— Jimmy just didn’t know. It was as confusing as Thomas himself. 

“Stop daydreaming and finish your breakfast, James. You’re late enough already.” Mr. Carson’s voice cut sharply through Jimmy’s wandering thoughts, making the latter jump and hurriedly take another bite of toast, his eyes sliding back to watch Thomas reading his newspaper as he chewed. Thomas had seamlessly smoothed the hint of colour from his face and his expression was as carefully smooth and impassive as ever, not the slightest trace of emotion left on it. Jimmy suddenly realised that the only time he ever caught a glimpse of emotion on Thomas’ face was when it concerned himself; out of everyone, he was the one closest to Thomas— and yet he still didn’t really know him at all. 

Jimmy still wasn’t quite sure why it mattered so much to him to try and understand Thomas. Perhaps it was because Jimmy had always liked to think that he never needed to learn anything because he already knew it all— but when it came to Thomas, he could no longer ignore the fact that in actuality, Jimmy knew and understood painfully little of the world. 

Before he’d met Thomas, Jimmy had found it endlessly easy to put people into boxes— but Thomas was different. Every time Jimmy thought he’d got him figured out so that he fitted in one place, Thomas would do or say something and Jimmy would be forced to realise that the other man was something else entirely. It was endlessly frustrating; Jimmy hadn’t failed to understand something since he was a child, and he hated the helplessness of the feeling. It made him feel as though he was ten years old again and crying over the snow in his hands that no longer existed. 

“James, are you listening to me?” 

Jimmy jumped at Mr. Carson’s irritated tone and dragged his gaze from Thomas, whose eyes were still on the newspaper in front of him. 

“Sorry, Mr. Carson. My mind was elsewhere,” Jimmy apologised guiltily, draining his cup of tea and standing up hurriedly.

“Yes, I could see that,” Mr. Carson said sardonically. “Alfred is already upstairs. Go and join him— there’s plenty to be done before Lord Gillingham arrives this evening, and I won’t tolerate laziness. Or untidiness, for that matter. Make sure you’ve made yourself more presentable by the time our visitor arrives.”

“Yes, Mr. Carson,” Jimmy sighed, trying in vain to straighten his jacket and push his hair into some kind of order. 

Across the table, Thomas folded up his newspaper and looked up briefly at Jimmy, eyebrows raised slightly.

Jimmy couldn’t help but grin fleetingly at him before hurrying from the servants’ hall, catching the smallest of smiles in return before Thomas’ expression slipped back to its careful impassivity. 

It was a feeling of great resignation that Jimmy ascended the stairs to find Alfred; he suddenly had the feeling that today would feel even more endless than the last one before he got the chance to talk to Thomas properly. He’d been hoping to after breakfast— but it looked as though once more, the questions would have to wait.

 

~

 

By the time luncheon was served, Jimmy was in a foul mood. His headache had been considerably worsened by working tirelessly since breakfast at the same time as trying to tolerate Alfred, and his lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him. The only thing which had kept him from shouting at Alfred had been the prospect of talking to Thomas in the servants’ hall over lunch— but when Jimmy flung himself moodily down at the table, the seat opposite him— Thomas’ seat— was empty. Jimmy frowned, ignoring the plate of food in front of him, even though his stomach had been growling for the past several hours. 

“Where’s Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy addressed the table at large, but it was Mrs. Hughes who replied. 

“He went into Ripon after breakfast on an errand for his Lordship,” she said briskly, buttering her slice of bread. “He won’t be back until late this afternoon.”

Jimmy was acutely surprised at the disappointment that sunk like a stone in his stomach, and he dropped his gaze to his plate, no longer particularly hungry. 

“Actually, James, that reminds me—” Mrs. Hughes took a sip of water and looked down at Jimmy from the head of the table. “Mr. Carson wanted a brief word with you in his office.”

Hoping fervently that he wasn’t about to get a telling off, Jimmy left his plate of untouched food and rose from the table, making his way along to Mr. Carson’s office. He paused for a moment outside before knocking hesitantly on the door.

“Come in.”

“You asked to see me, Mr. Carson?” Jimmy asked as politely as he could manage, poking his head around the door.

“Oh, yes— come in, James,” Mr. Carson replied, putting down the silver he had been polishing and looking up. “Mrs. Hughes tells me that you and Alfred have finished with the entrance hall, so I would be much obliged if you could go down to Ripon this afternoon to run a couple of last minute errands. Lady Edith is taking the motor down shortly, so you should be able to get a lift with her if you wish.”

“Certainly, Mr. Carson,” Jimmy agreed, feeling his stomach leap hopefully at the possibility of catching Thomas in the village. It suddenly struck him how ironic the situation was; before they’d become friends and Jimmy had wanted nothing more than for Thomas leave him alone, the other man had seemed to be there constantly— and now that Jimmy wanted to speak to him, he had become irritatingly elusive.

“Well, thank you, James. I’ll let Mrs. Hughes give you the details and I’ll see you at dinner,” Mr. Carson said briskly. He looked up at Jimmy with a slight frown. “Make sure you don’t dawdle in the village— come straight back once you’ve finished the errands.”

“Of course. Thank you, Mr. Carson.” Jimmy bowed out of the office, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face as he went to fetch his hat and coat. 

 

~

 

Dusk was beginning fall in the village, icy and forlorn in contrast to the bittersweet vibrancy of the leaves and Jimmy was certain that he’d missed Thomas. He’d already lingered in the village longer than necessary in the hope that he’d run into him, and was now shivering with cold and in danger of being late back. Consequently, it was with a sinking feeling of disappointment that he trailed back in the direction of the house, past the churchyard, where he suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure, leaning against the wall and smoking silently. His stomach leapt hopefully and he hurried over, across the leaf-strewn street. 

“Evening, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy grinned slightly breathlessly, stopping just in front of him. Thomas looked paler than ever in the dusk, shrouded in tendrils of smoke and the ugly shadows of the church.

“Jimmy,” Thomas raised his eyebrows in greeting, looking mildly surprised. He paused, taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing smoke out expertly into the cold air in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be working?” 

“I was sent into the village on some last minute errands after lunch. I’m just heading back now— d’you want to walk with me?” Jimmy asked hopefully, drawing his coat more closely around him against the icy October twilight. 

“Is that your question for the day?” Thomas smirked, smoke curling from his mouth. 

“Is that yours?” Jimmy countered, grinning. 

Thomas rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. He threw his cigarette to the leaf-strewn ground and crushed it beneath his heel. Jimmy watched him as he exhaled the last of the smoke from his lungs and turned his gaze to Jimmy, elusive and icy grey in the dwindling light. “Come on, then.”

“What?” Jimmy blinked.

“You just asked if I would walk back with you to the house,” Thomas reminded him evenly, amusement colouring his tone slightly. “And no doubt to pester me with more questions.”

“I’m not pestering you,” Jimmy said indignantly. “But I do have a question.”

“Out with it, then,” Thomas raised his eyebrows. 

“Let’s walk for a bit first,” Jimmy decided. “Come on.”

“As you like,” Thomas replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat as they walked slowly away from the church and started down the lane to Downton where amber leaves lit the stark trees like flames. 

“So, I assume you survived the morning with Alfred?” Thomas asked conversationally after a few moments of walking in silence, their footsteps crushing the fallen leaves that scattered the lane. “You should have seen your face when Mr. Carson told you that you were to work with him.” 

“It was a close thing,” Jimmy admitted with a wry grin. “I swear to god, a couple more hours and I’d have had to kill him.”

“I doubt Mr. Carson would have taken kindly to that. Murder would be far too much scandal for the house,” Thomas remarked lightly, making Jimmy laugh. 

“God forbid anything that brings scandal on the house,” Jimmy joked, shaking his head. “Even a teaspoon being out of place.”

They fell into a companionable silence for a while, broken only by sound of the leaves splitting beneath their feet. The air was sharp and biting as they walked, and Jimmy was interested to see the tiniest bit of colour sting Thomas’ pale cheeks, just as it had that morning over breakfast. It made the other man look less formal, more human somehow, with his jet black hair ruffled by the bitter breeze and his grey eyes sharp against the reds and oranges of the falling leaves; ice that cut through the flames.

“What else did your mother used to play on the piano?” Jimmy asked eventually, when Downton was a smudge on the horizon, and Thomas’ cheeks were stung red with the cold.

Thomas looked at him in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected Jimmy to remember their discussion several nights before. He hesitated for a moment, slowing slightly. 

“Old folk-songs, mainly,” he replied after a moment, gaze lost on the darkening horizon. “She used to sing, too.”

“Did you ever learn?” Jimmy asked curiously. When he thought about it, he could easily picture Thomas’ long, elegant fingers creating chords and melodies— but he supposed they were damaged, now. Thomas never took his glove off his left hand. Jimmy had touched it once; gently brushed it with his fingertips when Thomas reluctantly revealed what happened. He remembered how he’d never been sure whether Thomas had snatched his hand away because it hurt him or because Jimmy was touching him.

“Yes,” Thomas replied impassively. “She taught me.”

“Why don’t you ever play now?” Jimmy frowned, shivering as a particularly sharp gust of wind stung his skin, unsettling the remaining leaves on their trees. 

“It makes me sad,” Thomas said simply, glancing at Jimmy with unreadable, startling eyes. They were so grey against the flames of the trees and the starkness of the dusk it was almost painful; they stole all the colours around them. 

They walked in silence for several moments, footsteps rustling the fallen amber leaves which shrouded the path like burnt paper, wind whipping round them. Jimmy was surprised to realise that the vague presence of Thomas walking alongside him was inexplicably reassuring; he could feel the slight warmth of Thomas’ body beside him and taste the heady smoke and cologne on the numbingly cold breeze, and it made him feel a sudden pang of affection for the other man. 

“Why does it make you sad, Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy couldn’t help himself from asking quietly, watching Thomas intently. Thomas stopped walking, black hair making his impassive expression almost shockingly pale in the dwindling October light. He almost smiled— his lips quirked slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which stayed as sad and grey as the kind of snow that falls in the dark where no one can see it.

“I thought the deal was that we had one question each day,” he remarked coolly, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps mathematics isn’t your strong point, Jimmy, because I’m fairly certain I just answered three.”

“You didn’t answer them properly,” Jimmy scowled, crossing his arms across his chest. “But fine. You can ask me an extra one if you like.”

Thomas smiled slightly. “No thanks, I’ll stick to the rules.”

“That’ll make a change,” Jimmy quipped, watching Thomas’ mouth quirk slightly in amusement. “Go on then. What’s your question?”

Thomas didn’t reply straight away, instead he pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit it, hands clumsy with cold. Jimmy watched him, wondering vaguely what Thomas looked like without his hair slicked back, whether it would soften the sharpness of his features or only extenuate them through contrast. He wondered whether the smoke had stung Thomas’ lungs when he’d first taken up the habit like it stung Jimmy’s; whether he’d started the habit just to share someone’s company the way Jimmy had. Jimmy never smoked alone.

“Why did you suggest this?” Thomas asked slowly, smoke curling from the words that made Jimmy come to a halt in the bitter dusk. 

“Suggest what?” Jimmy asked uneasily, regarding Thomas in confusion. 

“This whole asking questions business,” Thomas clarified, watching Jimmy carefully. Jimmy could feel the smoke from Thomas’ cigarette stinging at his lungs as it curled through the air between them.

“Why not?” Jimmy shrugged, evading the question. He deftly took the cigarette from Thomas’ fingers. They were always surprisingly soft as well as warm; they should have been calloused from years of hardship the way Thomas was, but they were always smooth and pale. Jimmy took a long drag of the cigarette, trying not to choke on the smoke that burnt at his lungs and overwhelmed him. Thomas’ eyes didn’t leave him, bright from the bitterness of the wind. 

“You can’t answer questions with questions, Jimmy.” 

“Well, what if you don’t know the answer to a question?” Jimmy demanded, all the smoke coming out of his lungs in a rush and clouding the air between him and Thomas. He handed the cigarette back abruptly, still feeling the warmth of it on his lips as he started walking again.

“I can’t figure you out, Mr. Barrow,” he mumbled as Thomas fell into step with him. “I’m trying, but I just can’t.”

“Do you need to?” Thomas asked evenly. 

“Yes!” Jimmy exclaimed. “I hate not understanding.”

“Well, get used to it,” Thomas said quietly. 

“I don’t want to get used to it! I can’t. If I can’t understand something, it bothers me until I do. Normally it’s easy to understand things—”

“Easy to understand things— or easy to pretend you do?” Thomas cut in, grey eyes slicing through Jimmy and making him shiver uncomfortably. He shook his head, exhaling heavily and watching it curl up into the air to mingle with the smoke of Thomas’ cigarette. 

“I just wanted to… I just wanted to try to understand you. Even if it’s just the tiniest little bit,” Jimmy said slowly, not looking at Thomas but instead watching the way the leaves beneath his feet cracked and split into amber fragments. “I don’t know why I need to. But I just do.” 

Thomas didn’t say anything as they continued to walk in silence towards Downton, but as they neared the house, he drew closer. Jimmy jumped at the light touch on his wrist, but Thomas was just silently offering him the last of his cigarette. His cheeks were stung red from the cold, his hair tangled by the wind, his eyes illuminated by the dusk, and Jimmy didn’t think he’d ever seen Thomas look so human. 

“Thanks,” Jimmy mumbled gratefully, taking it and once again being surprised at the soft warmth of Thomas’ long fingers. “How are your hands warm? It’s bloody freezing.” 

“You know what they say,” Thomas shrugged impassively. “Cold hands, warm heart— I’m sure it works the other way too.”

Jimmy, smoking Thomas’ cigarette as they crossed the drive, couldn’t help thinking that nothing was less true— but he didn’t say anything as they crossed the yard and returned to the bustle and noise of the kitchen which suddenly seemed like a different world. 

 

~

 

Even though he was exhausted from lack of sleep the previous night and working all day, Jimmy didn’t go up to bed until well past midnight. Even Thomas had departed before him, leaving Jimmy to mull over his thoughts and the piano. As he played fragments of song, he kept seeing Thomas’ fingers dancing over the keys instead of his own. When had Thomas stopped playing? Was it after he injured his hand? Or was it when he came to Downton when he took up smoking? 

Jimmy only had a few more fragments of Thomas than he had a couple of days ago, but somehow the more pieces he had seemed to make the overall picture even more blurred than it had been when he’d known nothing. Everything he’d found out just led to further questions, and Jimmy felt as though he hadn’t really understood anything more about Thomas at all— it was as if asking the questions only made him realise how little he truly knew the other man— and how much he wanted to. 

He couldn’t stop hearing Thomas’ careless remark about cold hands and warm hearts, and was poignantly reminded of how Thomas had never, ever resented him or been cruel to him— even although Jimmy had tried to ruin him. Thomas might come across as cold and sarcastic most of the time, but Jimmy felt certain that he wasn’t that way at all. Maybe it was just easier for him to be that way, like it was easier for Jimmy to kid himself he understood everything because the alternative was too scary to face. 

“Jimmy.”

Jimmy jumped wildly, fingers clashing on the notes as he whirled around in surprise. Thomas himself was standing in the doorway of the servants’ hall, hair ruffled.

“Bloody hell, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy recovered himself slightly, raking a hand through his hair and letting out a breath. “You didn’t half scare me.”

“Go to sleep, Jimmy,” Thomas said quietly. “As much as I enjoy your piano playing, I highly doubt that Mr. Carson will at one o’clock in the morning. And you look dead on your feet.”

“I was thinking,” Jimmy said honestly, rubbing his aching eyes. 

“A highly dangerous occupation,” Thomas remarked coolly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Don’t I know it,” Jimmy replied ruefully, getting up wearily and picking up the lamp from the table. “You’re right, I do need to sleep. How come you’re still awake?” he asked curiously as he followed Thomas out into the hallway.

“Someone was playing the piano,” Thomas said evenly as they ascended the stairs. “Quite beautifully— but loudly, nonetheless.”

“Why did you really stop playing, Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy persisted as they reached the landing of the men’s quarters. Thomas stopped outside his door, facing Jimmy, his face hollowed out by the dim yellow light of the lamp Jimmy was holding. The soft light made his eyes look more vivid than ever, poignant and grey.

“Sleep, Jimmy,” Thomas said, and his tone was almost gentle. He regarded Jimmy for a moment in the flickering lamplight, and then quietly went into his room, closing the door behind him softly and leaving Jimmy standing out alone in the darkness of the hall with unanswered questions swirling round him once more. 

It took him several moments to realise that Thomas had called his piano playing beautiful— and several more to realise that he was smiling in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't actually planning to put the next installment up so soon, but your comments were all so lovely I couldn't resist! I hope you enjoyed reading it... once again, feedback would be massively appreciated (and might help speed up the next installment)! Thank you all for being so lovely! :'3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For it to make you sad, it must have been something that once made you happy.”

The following day was so busy that, much to his disappointment, Jimmy barely even glimpsed Thomas through the flurry of activity until they were both due to serve dinner. 

Thomas had been as immaculate and impassive as ever each time Jimmy had caught sight of him throughout the day, but as he passed Jimmy on the stairs down to the kitchen in a rush of smoke and cologne, he smiled fleetingly. It was the smallest of smiles, barely a flicker of the mouth, but was genuine and coloured the grey of his eyes for a moment. Thomas smiled so rarely that whenever he did, Jimmy felt as though he was being rewarded, and he couldn’t but help grinning back before he hurried back upstairs to finish laying the table. 

Despite having been working tirelessly since seven that morning on very few hours sleep, Jimmy had spent the day feeling inexplicably cheerful. The knowledge that Thomas allowed Jimmy to know more of him than anyone else made Jimmy feel almost triumphant— and desperately eager to continue discovering more. The need to understand had become almost obsessive; it was all Jimmy could think about. 

Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he kept thinking of all the questions he wanted to ask Thomas— and ever since Thomas had left him standing in the darkened hallway the night before, something had made Jimmy determined to get the other man to play the piano again. He wasn’t entirely sure why; perhaps it was because he wanted to catch a glimmer of the person Thomas used to be, or perhaps it was because whenever Jimmy played the piano, it was the happiest Thomas ever seemed to look. Or maybe it was just because it would be an excuse to spend more time with him; Jimmy tried not to think too much about how was happier when he was with Thomas than anywhere else. He was sure it was just because he was curious about the other man— once he understood him, everything would go back to normal. 

However, the day was so busy that Jimmy barely had time to consider Thomas and questions about the piano further; it wasn’t until minutes before the main course was served that he spoke to Thomas while they both prepared their serving trays in the steamy bustle of the kitchen. 

“I’ve got a question for you,” Thomas announced calmly, expertly balancing two dishes and a jug of gravy. 

Jimmy looked up eagerly, almost burning himself on the dish Mrs. Patmore had just handed him.

“Not now, you idiot. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the middle of serving rather an important dinner— I’m sure Mr. Carson would be just thrilled if we decided to stop for a chat,” Thomas said sarcastically. He picked up his tray and led the way out of the bustle of the kitchen. “Do you have to do anything more after you’ve finished serving the dinner?”

“I’ve got to help Alfred with the luggage and serve the after dinner wine while they’re all in the sitting room, but after that, I’m all yours,” Jimmy grinned, pausing as Thomas allowed him to go first up the stairs. 

Something in Thomas’ expression flickered slightly, and he remained silent as they ascended the stairs and went towards the dining room. Jimmy frowned, suddenly feeling guilty as he replayed his words in his head. It was so easy to be around Thomas that Jimmy sometimes forgot Thomas’ feelings for him, and consequently said things that in retrospect seemed so thoughtless and insensitive and made Jimmy feel awful. Maybe it wasn’t so much that he forgot Thomas’ feelings for him— it was hard to when they were in every look that Thomas gave him— but more that it just wasn’t uncomfortable. Jimmy didn’t really know why it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable anymore; he supposed he had just become used to it. 

All the same, every so often he became painfully aware that he’d said something without even thinking which hurt Thomas. Thomas never let on that this was the case, but he didn’t need to— Jimmy could see it the second he made whatever careless comment it was that time, and wished intently that he had the ability to erase words that had already left his mouth. He often wondered why Thomas didn’t just ignore him— wouldn’t it be less painful than being friends with him? Jimmy was grateful that Thomas was friends with him, though. In all honesty, he’d never had such a good friend as Thomas before in his life; maybe that was why it bothered him so much how little he knew about the other man.

Jimmy had learnt that the best thing to do in the cases when he’d said too much— when the awkwardness hung between them so thickly it was almost tangible— was to just pretend it hadn’t happened and change the subject. So consequently, when there was a slight lull in activity while they were both collecting the desserts from the kitchen, Jimmy set his tray down right next to Thomas purposefully.

“Mr. Barrow,” he said cheerfully, watching Thomas expertly fit the various different dishes onto his serving tray. “I’ve decided; I’m going to get you to play the piano again.”

Thomas looked up, expression quizzical. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Jimmy said honestly, piling dishes of strawberries and raspberries onto his serving tray.

“Do I have any say in this?” Thomas asked, expression as impassive as ever, but the smallest hint of amusement laced his tone, and Jimmy knew he was forgiven. 

“No,” Jimmy replied cheerfully, adding the cream to his tray and leading the way out of the kitchen. “Sorry.”

“Well, we’ll have to see about that.” Jimmy couldn’t see Thomas’ expression because he was walking behind him, but it sounded as though he was smiling slightly, and Jimmy grinned triumphantly. 

“You should know, Mr. Barrow,” he said seriously, holding the door open for Thomas. “I always get what I want.”

“Well, I envy you that,” Thomas replied, smiling slightly as he paused, waiting for Jimmy as they crossed the entrance hall towards the dining room. 

“Anyone can get what they want,” Jimmy shrugged, glancing at Thomas’ seamless profile. “They just have to be persistent enough.”

“Not the answer in every case, I’m afraid,” Thomas said quietly.

“Of course it is,” Jimmy insisted as they paused for a second outside the dining room. 

“Is it?” Thomas asked, eyes catching on Jimmy’s for a second before he went in, leaving Jimmy standing in the doorway, suddenly feeling utterly awful. 

 

~

 

Jimmy spent the remainder of the evening feeling angry with himself, and time seemed to pass painfully slowly before he was able to go and speak to Thomas. By the time he finally finished working, he was thoroughly frustrated and had managed to obtain a deep gash on the palm of his hand from clumsily clearing up a broken glass too hastily. It was still bleeding and throbbing painfully when Jimmy eventually made it down to the servants’ hall just after eleven, cursing. Anna was the only one there besides Thomas, who sitting by the fire, staring into the flickering depths of the flames and smoking silently. 

He looked more like a closed book than ever— but his pages were in danger of being burnt by the fire. Jimmy paused uncertainly for a moment, watching the way the flames were reflected in Thomas’ grey eyes and the way the smoke from his cigarette unfurled enigmatically around his sharp features, masking their sadness with ambiguity. 

“Evening, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy offered tentatively, feeling slightly hesitant as he drew up a chair beside Thomas and sat down tensely. He could feel the glowing warmth of the fire making his cheeks heat up already.

Thomas looked up, smoke curling around his expression. He opened his mouth as if to say something in response, but then frowned suddenly, eyes catching on Jimmy’s clumsily bandaged hand. 

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, concern suddenly etched across his usually impassive features. He put his cigarette down in the ash tray, turning to face Jimmy properly.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Jimmy waved him off dismissively, intensely grateful that Thomas seemed not to be troubled by his careless remarks from earlier in the evening. “Bloody Alfred dropped a glass and I had to clear it up— only I didn’t manage it too well, as you can see.”

“Let me take a look at it,” Thomas offered, concern still heavy in his gaze. He stubbed out his cigarette even though he had not finished, leaving it smoking faintly in the ash tray. 

“I’m fine— really, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy insisted.

“You seem to be forgetting that I’m the one here with a medical qualification,” Thomas reminded him evenly, but the concern still coloured his eyes. “Let me be the judge of whether its fine or not.”

Jimmy winced slightly as he reluctantly held out his hand, letting Thomas hesitantly turn it over in his own hands. His fingers were faintly warm as Jimmy remembered, but surprisingly cool considering he’d been sitting by the fire, and as he carefully unwrapped the cloth that Jimmy had hastily bundled the wound in before continuing to serve the wine, he could feel the subtly hardened skin where Thomas held his cigarettes. 

“How did you manage to continue serving like this?” Thomas asked, his tone as measured and careful as ever, but he spoke more quietly than usual, still holding Jimmy’s hand in his warm ones as his thumb softly traced round the wound. “It’ll need cleaned. Hold on a moment, I’ll go and get you a proper bandage and some warm water.”

“I’m fine, honestly, Mr. Barrow—” Jimmy protested feebly, but Thomas was already getting to his feet. With a sigh, Jimmy leant back in his chair, gazing into the fire. It always made him feel guilty when Thomas was so nice to him, because he felt as though he had nothing to give in return. 

It was ironic; at the beginning of their shaky friendship, Jimmy had arrogantly thought that he didn’t need to give Thomas anything but his presence, but he had increasingly come to realise that Thomas gave him so much it made him feel as though he himself was empty— and yet he still didn’t really know anything tangible about the other man. He didn’t know where he was born or what his parents were like, but he knew the way Thomas liked to smoke in the dusk where the smoke from his cigarette melted into the sky; he didn’t know who Thomas’ friends had been when he was young, but he knew the way that Thomas always smiled without realising it when Jimmy played the piano; he didn’t know how Thomas had spent a single moment of his life before he came to Downton, but he knew which sections of the newspaper Thomas liked to read first at breakfast. 

It had started off with Thomas constantly trying to prove himself to Jimmy— and now it seemed to Jimmy as though it was the other way round. He was constantly trying to impress a man he didn’t even know, and it bothered him more than he liked to admit to himself. At least if he knew what a brilliant person Thomas was, he could justify it. But he only knew half-fragments about Thomas’ life, and he couldn’t justify it at all. 

“Here we are,” Thomas’ voice startled Jimmy from his thoughts and he looked up to see Thomas setting a bowl of warm water and some bandages on the table. He pulled off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair before sitting down, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and exposing the pale skin of his forearms. Jimmy was surprised at how smooth and unmarked they were; how they were almost translucent so that he could see the traces of blue veins and Thomas’ pulse fluttering beneath the seamless surface. It made the other man seem suddenly much more real. 

“This might sting a little,” Thomas warned, dipping a piece of cotton wool into the warm water. He hesitated for a moment before taking Jimmy’s hand again. Jimmy felt his skin tingle slightly at the feel of Thomas’ fingers curling round his wrist, holding his hand firmly in place. Thomas’ expression was strained, as though being so close to Jimmy was painful. It was carefully masked— probably no one besides Jimmy would have noticed; the hand holding Jimmy’s was warm and steady, but Jimmy could see Thomas’ long fingers trembling slightly as they carefully dabbed blood away from the wound, and felt a sudden inexplicable pang of affection for the other man.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, eyes on Thomas’ expression. He was frowning slightly in concentration, a couple of strands of inky black hair falling into his eyes as he cleaned the wound with intense care. “Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” Thomas asked, not looking up but continuing to dab gently at the drying blood around the wound with long, careful fingers.

“Looking after people,” Jimmy murmured. “The way you did during the war. And just so you know, this isn’t my official question for the day— so I suppose you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

The smallest of smiles pulled at Thomas’ mouth. “Not your official question?”

“No. I haven’t decided on that yet,” Jimmy admitted. “Too many to choose from.”

“Is there really that much you want to know about me?” Thomas asked, sounding surprised. “I’m really not very interesting, you know.”

“I disagree,” Jimmy said stubbornly, wincing as Thomas carefully started cleaning the wound itself with warm water from the bowl.

Despite the slight stinging of the cut, there was something inexplicably soothing about having it cleaned; Jimmy felt lulled by the warm, gentle pressure of Thomas’ warm hand round his and the warmth of the fire, mingling with the subtle hint of smoke Jimmy could almost taste on Thomas’ breath between them.

“In answer to your unofficial question; no, I don’t miss it,” Thomas said quietly after several moments, looking up as he discarded the piece of cotton wool he’d been using and dipping a fresh bit into the bowl of warm water. His expression was uncharacteristically unguarded, making Jimmy blink, suddenly feeling too close.

“Why— why not?” he stammered, not dropping his gaze from Thomas’ intently grey one. He felt all-too aware of Thomas’ hand still holding his. 

“I’m not good at helping people. I never have been— and I went into it for the wrong reasons,” Thomas replied evenly, looking away as he began to dab at the wound again. 

Jimmy didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help thinking how wrong Thomas was. Without even knowing it— Jimmy himself hadn’t even known it for a long time— he’d helped Jimmy more than the latter could put into words. Before he’d formed his tentative friendship with Thomas, Jimmy had been vain and uninterested in anyone but himself and his own selfish feelings— but becoming friends with Thomas had allowed him to realise how truly valuable other people were. Jimmy had a suspicion that Thomas was still helping him in ways he didn’t yet understand. 

“Ouch,” Jimmy winced, pain burning at his palm as Thomas dabbed at the deepest part of the cut. 

“Sorry,” Thomas murmured, dabbing around it more softly, his jet black hair falling across his face as he frowned in concentration. 

They fell into an easy silence as Thomas continued to clean the cut, soaking the cotton wool in the warm water before applying it to the wound. Jimmy was surprised at how aware he was of Thomas’ fingers holding his hand steady; how he could almost feel the elevated pulse under the pale skin of Thomas’ wrist, how the warmth of Thomas’ skin somehow got mixed in with the warmth of Jimmy’s skin until he wasn’t sure who it belonged to anymore. He could feel the slight roughness on Thomas’ index finger from all the cigarettes he smoked, taste the same hint of smoke on the air between them from Thomas’ breath, and wondered distantly whether the skin there would taste softly smoky too. 

Jimmy winced again, suddenly feeling far too caught up, far too absorbed— it was suddenly as if the warm silence around them was choking him. 

“You said you had a question for me,” he blurted out, looking away from the warm pressure of Thomas’ pale fingers curled around his and letting his gaze fall to the flames licking at the grate of the fire. He could feel the heat of it creeping up his cheeks and swallowed, trying to ignore the tingling sensation where Thomas’ skin touched his. 

“I do.” Thomas’ voice was quiet and measured. He discarded the piece of cotton wool he’d been using and dipped another bit into the warm water before continuing. Jimmy noted that he barely noticed the stinging at all now— the feel of Thomas’ touch was much stronger. 

“Go on, then,” Jimmy said, his voice sounding oddly weak to his own ears. 

Thomas was quiet for a moment, his expression one of intense concentration. Jimmy couldn’t miss the simple tenderness with which the other man cleaned the wound on his palm, and he swallowed uncomfortably, heart thudding guiltily in his chest as he watched. All the same, Jimmy couldn’t quite tear his gaze away from Thomas; it was strange seeing such a tender expression on his usually impassive face. It was an expression Jimmy had never seen on him before because he hadn’t allowed Jimmy to see. But he was allowing him to now. The thought made Jimmy feel strangely privileged.

“I was wondering what you wanted to be when you grew up,” Thomas said calmly after a moment, gently wiping away the remaining traces of blood. “When you were little, what you imagined yourself being.”

Jimmy blinked, taken aback. “Well, I certainly didn’t imagine myself being a footman,” he said honestly, and the smallest of smiles pulled at Thomas’ mouth, though he didn’t avert his eyes from what he was doing. 

“What did you imagine yourself being?” 

“When I was about seven, I was determined I was going to be a prince,” Jimmy grinned.

Thomas laughed, the smile splitting across his features as he looked up. Jimmy suddenly realised how rarely Thomas laughed, and he was struck by how human it made him look. His icy grey eyes had melted and crinkled round the edges, a million miles away from the closed-up, careful expression Thomas usually maintained. Sitting there with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his inky black hair falling out of place, laughing, his hands round Jimmy’s, Thomas looked so utterly unguarded and unrestrained— and Jimmy didn’t expect it to hit him quite so hard how lovely it was. 

“What’s so funny?” Jimmy glared at Thomas, who had stopped laughing, but was still smiling as he continued to clean Jimmy’s cut.

“Nothing, nothing,” Thomas replied, shaking his head, the smile still playing across his lips. “I just don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimmy frowned indignantly. 

“Nothing at all,” Thomas insisted, dipping the last bit of cotton wool in the bowl of warm water and tentatively applying it to Jimmy’s wound. “Now, do I get an ‘unofficial question’ too?” 

“I suppose,” Jimmy conceded, still frowning slightly at Thomas. “If it’s a nice one.”

“Why are you so determined to get me to play the piano?” Thomas asked carefully, glancing up fleetingly at Jimmy, eyes startlingly grey against the pallor of his face and the dim glow of the firelight around them.

Jimmy considered the question for a moment, concentrating on the slight tingling of the skin on his hand. He couldn’t quite tell whether it was because of the warm water in his cut or because of Thomas’ touch. 

“Because,” he said slowly, eyes on Thomas’ uncharacteristically tender expression as he wiped the wound clean, holding Jimmy’s hand as though it was something fragile or precious. “For it to make you sad, it must have been something that once made you happy.”

Thomas looked up, expression unreadable despite how close Jimmy was to him. Even with the warmth of the fire, he was as pale as ever— though his eyes were glittering, their pupils blown as though the blackness was trying to eclipse the grey, and his lips were red, as though he bit them to try and keep the words in. With a pang of sadness, Jimmy fleetingly wondered how much Thomas didn’t say but wished he could. 

For a several moments, Thomas held his gaze in the glimmering glow of the firelight, the black of his pupils more vivid than ever against the remaining slivers of grey. Jimmy could feel the pulse in Thomas’ wrist fluttering irregularly where he held onto Jimmy’s hand, and could almost taste the smoke on the uneven breaths between them— then suddenly a slight pink tinge appeared on Thomas’ cheeks as though he realised he’d been looking at Jimmy for too long, and he dropped his gaze as though he’d been burnt, returning hurriedly to the ministrations on the cut.

Jimmy watched him for a moment, feeling his heart beating unevenly in his chest for reasons he could not fathom. The heat of the fire was suddenly headier than before, forcing Jimmy to stall Thomas as he took off his own jacket and rolled up the sleeves, exposing skin that looked so tanned and golden that it made Thomas' look paler than ever where his fingers curled around Jimmy’s wrist, holding his hand still. 

“So, do you have a question for me?” Thomas’ quiet voice startled Jimmy from his thoughts, his cheeks suddenly feeling warm from the heat of the fire.

He hesitated for a moment, watching the firelight reflected in Thomas’ grey eyes. Thomas just looked so tender, so unguarded, sitting there with Jimmy’s hand in his. Jimmy wasn’t quite sure what made him ask it. 

“Why did you do it? That day at the fair— weren’t you scared?” 

He hadn’t meant to ask it, but he had— and it was too late to take it back. The question hung heavily in the air around them, all the lulled warmth of the fire suddenly crushed and airless. 

“You know perfectly well why I did it,” Thomas replied so quietly it was almost a whisper, dropping Jimmy’s hand. He swallowed. “It’s cheating to ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“But I don’t know the answer,” Jimmy protested, shifting uncomfortably. 

“How many times do you need me to tell you I’m in love with you?” Thomas asked quietly, looking away. Jimmy watched the way the muscles in his jaw clenched, as though he was trying to pull back the words that were already in the air around them— or as if he wished they weren’t the truth. 

“Mr. Barrow, I didn’t—”

“Was it not clear enough for you the first time? Do you just like to hear it because it makes you feel good about yourself? Or perhaps it amuses you?” Thomas’ expression was more rigidly impassive than ever, all the warmth vanished. 

“No, it’s not that,” Jimmy stammered, feeling his cheeks burning. “I just don’t understand why you did it… That the day of the fair— weren’t you scared?”

“Of course I was,” Thomas frowned, glancing up at Jimmy in confusion.

“Then why…?” Jimmy trailed off, biting his lip. He knew he’d said too much, crossed the fragile line of their friendship more than enough.

“Because you matter more than however scared I was. And in any case, being in love is like being scared— the best kind of scared. I was already terrified, what difference would it have made?” 

Jimmy stared at Thomas; the way pink tinge on his cheekbones made the grey of his eyes stand out more vividly than ever against the inky black of his hair. The flames of the fire beside them were reflected in their irises, making it look as though they were melting the ice. 

“Aren’t you going to finish my bandage?” Jimmy asked quietly after several moments of silence which were broken only by the crackle and hiss of the flames that changed what they were burning out of all recognition; destroying them, but somehow making them beautiful in the process.

Thomas’ expression was surprised as he looked back up, but he masked it quickly and nodded wordlessly, tentatively taking Jimmy’s hand once more and softly dabbing it dry. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been scared,” Jimmy murmured, staring at Thomas’ fingers curled tenderly round his. It suddenly struck him how ironic it was to be saying such a thing while his heart was thudding in his chest. “Not really.” 

“Lucky you,” Thomas said so quietly it was almost inaudible over the hiss of the flames in the fireplace, and Jimmy didn’t know what to say to that, so he just sat back and let Thomas wind the bandage carefully round the wound on his palm with the same fingers that smoked all those cigarettes with Jimmy every day and had once learnt to play the piano and had been shattered in the war. 

They were so soft against Jimmy’s hand that it almost felt as though they weren’t there— but Jimmy knew they were, because when Thomas finished the bandage and let go, the spaces where his hand had been felt unexpectedly and poignantly cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this installment! Just wanted to say a massive thanks to all of you who've commented on here or tumblr...it's ridiculous how much your lovely comments make me smile and want to keep writing :'D The next bit should be up soon- I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter! Thanks for all the lovely support <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re very persistent, Jimmy Kent. And too curious for your own good.”

The following morning dawned bitterly cold and unforgivingly grey, with frost that clung in icy crystals to the windowpanes. Jimmy was already lying awake when his alarm went off at six o’clock; he’d slept badly again, head muddled with half-conscious questions and answers that felt as though they were on the tip of his tongue. The cut on the palm of his hand was still throbbing dully, and with each pang of pain, Jimmy was reminded of the feeling of Thomas’ fingers curled carefully round his wrist, softer than they should have been. 

Head aching from lack of sleep, Jimmy blearily turned his alarm off and got out of bed, feeling the icy morning air stinging his exposed skin. 

He couldn’t help feeling inexplicably and uncharacteristically nervous as he washed and dressed hurriedly in his livery, still tugging on his jacket as he hurried down the hall to breakfast. Perhaps it was down to lack of sleep, or maybe it was because he was worried he’d finally stepped too far across the fragile line of his and Thomas’ friendship and damaged it irreparably. He couldn’t never really tell what Thomas was feeling or thinking; he was utterly inscrutable at the worst of times, and while it was what made Jimmy endlessly curious about the other man, it was also distinctly disconcerting at times such as this. 

Jimmy just couldn’t help feeling a line of some kind had been crossed last night as they sat in front of the fire and Thomas bandaged his hand and told him about fear— but he wasn’t sure exactly what line it was, and that made him more nervous than anything. There just seemed to be more and more questions whose answers were either troublingly absent or simply raised further questions, and Jimmy was beginning to feel as though he was floundering in the helpless feeling of not understanding something. 

“Good morning, Jimmy,” Ivy smiled prettily at him as he entered the servants’ hall, straightening his jacket and trying to compose himself slightly so it was not clear he’d spent half the night awake again.

“Morning,” Jimmy replied distractedly as he sat down in his usual seat, eyes seeking out Thomas. His heart sank as he quickly realised that Thomas wasn’t yet in the servants’ hall, and it was with a heavy feeling in the bottom of his stomach that he helped himself to a slice of toast and gulped at his cup of tea.

“James—” Mr Carson raised his voice over the bustle of breakfast “— the gallery on the top floor needs cleaning, and seeing as that part of the house will be unoccupied today, I thought it would be an advisable time to begin. Considering that it’s Alfred’s half day, Mr. Barrow will be joining you.”

Jimmy nodded wordlessly, trying to quell the nerves that suddenly writhed again in his stomach. He hastily took another gulp of tea in attempt to distract himself without much success. 

Moments later, Ivy sat down in the seat beside him and started up a conversation about dancing, which Jimmy gratefully participated in without really paying much attention to what was being said. 

He was just finishing his slice of toast when he caught sight of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye, and looked up to see Thomas sliding into the seat across the table, the picture of immaculate impassivity. He looked a world apart from the Thomas who had sat beside Jimmy at the fire last night; his hair was slicked back seamlessly, making his features look sharper than ever, and his grey eyes looked inscrutably icy in the morning light. 

Jimmy swallowed his mouthful of toast and looked up to smile hopefully at Thomas, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous again. 

“Good morning, Mr. Barrow,” he greeted, more cheerfully than he felt. 

“Good morning.” Thomas nodded briefly at Jimmy over his cup of tea, but the coldness of his eyes had melted slightly.

Jimmy relaxed a little, settling back into his seat and taking a gulp of tea. Although he knew barely anything about Thomas, Jimmy had known him long enough to be able to detect the subtle signs that showed whether or not he was angry, and Jimmy knew from experience— not personal— that if Thomas was angry with someone, he’d make it painfully clear through sniping comments or cruel sarcasm. Jimmy had never experienced Thomas’ anger first-hand, and hoped he never would. 

Apart from anything else, he sincerely hoped that he would never do something which would hurt Thomas enough to cause him to be angry.

 

~

 

The gallery on the top floor was draughty and dusty, and the bitter daylight that filtered through the windows illuminated the dust motes in the air like minute particles of snow. Even although Thomas didn’t seem to be annoyed with him, the silence between them as they started working felt awkward and uneasy to Jimmy; Thomas never tended to initiate conversation, but Jimmy always talked, even if he didn’t really have anything to say. But today, for some reason, Jimmy couldn’t think of a single thing to say. In fact, it wasn’t until after at least half an hour at work polishing the silver in the largest cabinet that the silence was broken at all, save for the clink of metal.

“You’re very silent today.” 

Jimmy almost dropped the silver badge he was in the middle of polishing as he looked up. Thomas wasn’t looking at him, rather at the piece of silver he was working on.

“I— yes. I didn’t sleep well,” Jimmy blurted.

“Why was that?” Thomas glanced up, and Jimmy caught a flicker of concern in his eyes.

Jimmy hesitated, unsure of the answer.

“It’s alright,” Thomas said, his tone less even than it had been a moment before. “Unofficial question. You don’t have to answer it.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy replied gratefully, setting the silver badge back into the cabinet and picking up a tarnished medal. “I would if I knew the answer,” he added honestly. 

They lapsed back into silence for a while, but it was less uncomfortable, and Jimmy relaxed a little as he worked. There was something strangely soothing about polishing the silver— Jimmy had used to find it a tedious job when he first joined the household, but now he found it oddly satisfying. There was something very pleasing about starting off the day with something that was tarnished with time, and being able to make it shine as though it was brand new by the end of the day.

“Can you pass me the polish?” Jimmy asked as he picked up a particularly tarnished medal. 

Wordlessly, Thomas handed him the little tin of polish, and Jimmy jumped slightly at the feeling of Thomas’ fingers brushing against his as he did so. He was instantly reminded of sitting by the fire with Thomas the night before, letting Thomas hold his hand, his wrist, touch his skin and the pulse underneath. It shouldn’t have felt so intimate, and it unsettled Jimmy that it had done; it felt as though Thomas was somehow touching more than just the surface of Jimmy’s skin. 

Annoyed with himself, Jimmy shook off the thoughts which had already plagued him into the early hours of the morning, and instead focused all his attention on polishing the medals as effectively as possible, humming slightly as he worked to block out the turmoil of questions and answers that churned through his mind. 

Neither of them spoke properly until the first weak rays of autumnal sunshine melted through the frost and into the cold gallery, and Jimmy set down the last of the set of medals with a sigh, brushing his hair off his forehead and looking up at Thomas.

“Cigarette break?” he suggested hopefully, stretching his arms.

Thomas paused in his cleaning of a silver vase and consulted his pocket watch. “We’ve been working most of the morning. I suppose Mr. Carson probably wouldn’t have a fit if we took a ten minute break.”

Jimmy grinned and threw down his duster, following Thomas down the stairs.

The air in the yard was sharp and tasted of the sad rust of decaying leaves, but both were soon eclipsed by the smoke from Thomas’ freshly lit cigarette. 

“I assume when you suggested a cigarette break, you were simply hoping to steal my cigarettes?” Thomas remarked, but he held the box out to Jimmy anyway, eyes greyer than ever in the frail rays of sun that reached tentatively into the yard.

“I’m glad you interpreted my meaning so well, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy grinned, taking one from the box and lighting it, coughing slightly as the smoke enveloped his lungs. 

Thomas smiled slightly, but didn’t say anything, merely continued to smoke. Jimmy watched it curling away from him into the pale gold of the weak October sunlight, and was suddenly reminded of the game he’d used to play as a child with his older brother— they’d lived in a seaside village, and so every so often a sea mist would descend, smothering the streets. Jimmy had always been determined to catch the mist; he’d run after it, but no matter how far he ran, no matter how close he thought he was to it, it always slipped through his fingers— utterly intangible. Jimmy had mistaken its identity altogether, and hadn’t come to realise what it truly was until some years later; that it was something he would never be able to hold tangibly in his bare hands.

“I think I’ve got another question for you,” Jimmy said slowly after several moments of smoking in silence. He exhaled impatiently and looked at Thomas who was leaning against the wall beside him. 

“Official or unofficial?” Thomas asked with the smallest hint of amusement.

“Official,” Jimmy decided, taking another drag on his cigarette and fighting the desire to cough. “I want to know who the first friend you ever had was.”

Thomas froze in the middle of tapping ash to the ground, eyes fixed on Jimmy. 

“I can’t really say I want to answer that,” he said impassively.

“I’ll have a month’s supply of cigarettes then, please,” Jimmy countered. “And don’t think I’ll share them with you, because I won’t. Not a single one.”

“I’m not even sure you ever buy your own cigarettes. I always share mine with you,” Thomas pointed out evenly, dropping the end of his cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel.

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Jimmy teased. 

He watched Thomas’ jaw clench and unclench as he fumbled in his pocket and lit another cigarette, staring up at the frosty sunlight.

“My first friend,” he began slowly, taking a drag of the fresh cigarette and blowing smoke up into the sky, “was a boy called Charlie McArthur. His father used to work for mine.”

Jimmy stayed silent, sensing that Thomas hadn’t finished speaking.

“Charlie and I always used to get sent off to play together while our fathers were working. We’d go down to the river at the back of the village and play at being knights from fairytales— we’d use the branches from the ancient birch tree as swords and pretended that the river was the moat guarding our castle. Silly, children’s stuff.” Thomas paused, taking a long drag of his cigarette, eyes faraway. “We grew up playing together, we were practically inseparable. But one day his father caught us playing together— we were pretending to be a king and a queen, and so we were holding hands.”

Jimmy watched as Thomas broke off, jaw clenched. “We weren’t even doing anything— we were both twelve for god’s sake. But I never saw Charlie again after that, and my father sent me away to start working on my own.”

Thomas lapsed into silence, smoke curling around him as he stared at the floor, the muscles of his jaw still clenched as though he regretted the words it had formed. The frail rays of October sunlight cast his shadow long and sad on the cobbled ground of the yard, and Jimmy swallowed tightly, suddenly feeling awful. He wished to god he’d never asked the question, because it hurt him more than he could ever have guessed to imagine young Thomas being so bewildered as to why he’d lost his only friend— and to see Thomas standing in front of him now, bitter and irreparably sad. 

Jimmy didn’t often notice it— Thomas concealed it well under a careful mask of impassivity and sarcasm, but it was shown up now by the tentative rays of feeble sunlight and the words that resonated around them with the smoke. The sunlight should have made things brighter, but they somehow just cast Thomas even more into shadow. 

“Mr. Barrow— Thomas… I’m so sorry,” Jimmy mumbled quietly, meaning every word of it. He dropped his cigarette guiltily to the ground, biting his lip as he stared at Thomas anxiously. 

“Why are you sorry?” Thomas asked, looking up. His eyes were like broken glass, and it hurt Jimmy to look at them. “It’s a lesson I had to learn. I only wish I’d learnt it sooner rather than later.”

Jimmy didn’t know what to say to that. “Mr. Barrow—”

“Come on, it’s time we got back to work,” Thomas cut across him, his voice carefully emotionless once more. Jimmy had never noticed how harsh it sounded in comparison to Thomas’ voice when he was talking freely. 

He felt deeply troubled as he watched Thomas stub his cigarette out and lead the way from the yard back upstairs to continue polishing the silver. Jimmy suddenly couldn’t help thinking that Thomas himself was a little like the silver artefacts in the dusty gallery; tarnished and flawed by time. 

 

~

 

Jimmy worked with Thomas in the gallery until after luncheon, when Thomas was required to attend to his Lordship, leaving Jimmy to work alone until dinner. Working alone was considerably less enjoyable, and Jimmy found that he missed Thomas’ presence more than he would have expected. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the story Thomas had told him, and spent the majority of the time in the gallery feeling inexplicably angry— he wasn’t sure whom it was directed at; it wasn’t towards Thomas or himself, but the story the other man had told him affected him more than he could have imagined. He couldn’t bear thinking about the young, innocent Thomas standing alone and confused by the river before he was contorted by the ugly shadows of the church, but the image would not leave his mind. Jimmy sincerely hoped that Thomas was not as affected by telling the story as much as Jimmy had been by hearing it. 

He felt grateful to see that Thomas looked no different from usual when he sat down in his seat at supper and gave Jimmy a slight smile, which Jimmy returned enthusiastically, feeling intensely grateful that the story didn’t seem to be playing on Thomas’ mind at all. They exchanged snippets of conversation after supper ended and people started heading up to bed, but Thomas was mostly reading the newspaper.

For a while, Jimmy read snatches of it over the other man’s shoulder, but grew restless. He wanted to play the piano— but he was determined to try and get Thomas to join him. Jimmy wasn’t sure quite how to broach the subject, however, and it was only when he decided he would need to say something before Thomas disappeared upstairs to bed that he decided to just come right out with it. 

“Mr. Barrow, I’m going to play the piano before I go up— would you care to join me?” Jimmy asked hopefully, draining the last of his cocoa and standing up. The servants’ hall was deserted by this point; the clock on the mantelpiece read just after eleven. 

Thomas looked up from his newspaper, eyes conveying mild surprise. “Are you serious?”

“You know me, Mr. Barrow— I’m always serious,” Jimmy said, deadpan.

“I somehow find that difficult to believe.” Thomas’ mouth twitched in amusement.

“Really, though, how about it?” Jimmy pressed, fixing Thomas with a grin. “I know you haven’t played for ages, but we could try some duets to begin with, or maybe you—”

“Alright.” Thomas was folding up his newspaper and standing up too. “If it’ll get to you stop pestering me about it.” It should have sounded irratated, but Thomas was smiling slightly as he said it.

“Brilliant,” Jimmy grinned triumphantly, sliding down the piano stool a little to make room for Thomas, who hesitantly sat down beside him. There wasn’t much space; Jimmy could feel the warmth of Thomas beside him, the way their legs were pressed together through the fabric of their black trousers and their shoulders brushed whenever Jimmy reached out to play. The scent of Thomas’ cologne mingled with the slight sharpness of smoke was stronger than ever; Jimmy had rarely been this close to him for it to be so intoxicating. 

“How about we start off with something pretty straightforward?” Jimmy suggested. “You only need to alternate between three chords for this one, I’ll show you them.”

Thomas nodded wordlessly, hands hesitating over the keys.

“Right, so it starts of with one in C major…” Jimmy tentatively positioned Thomas’ fingers on the keys, trying to ignore that slight shiver that ran up his spine at the contact. He could feel Thomas’ gaze heavy on him as Jimmy demonstrated the chords, and it made the heat creep up his cheeks. He broke off, looking up at Thomas.

“Your turn,” Jimmy said, more quietly than he’d intended.

Wordlessly, Thomas looked away from Jimmy as though he didn’t even realise he’d been staring, and stiffly played the chord, long fingers gripping the keys harder than necessary.

“Now the one in E…” Jimmy prompted, watching Thomas’ pale fingers move to play the next chord. He could see the way that Thomas’ jaw was clenched in concentration, the immaculate line of his inky hair sharpening his features, and felt a sudden pang of inexplicable affection for the other man.

“No, that finger should be here…” Jimmy corrected, hesitantly moving Thomas’ index finger onto the right key, and feeling Thomas tense slightly from where they were pressed together on the piano stool. 

“Like this?” 

“Yeah. Want to try it together?” Jimmy suggested hopefully. 

“If you like,” Thomas agreed. Jimmy glanced sideways at him and flashed Thomas a quick grin, which the other man returned with an ease which surprised Jimmy. He couldn’t help noticing that Thomas looked more as he’d done the night before in front of the fire again; less guarded, less careful. He looked more human. His pomaded hair was softening and coming out of place a little, and his eyes contradicted themselves in the dull light: warm and icy all at once. Jimmy fleetingly wondered whether it was just because it was the end of the day, or because it was just the two of them once more. 

It took Jimmy a couple of bars of the music to adjust to playing a duet; Thomas’ leg was pressed against his, and he could feel the brush of their arms as their hands moved along the keys, fingers clashing every so often and making their playing stumble and Jimmy grin, hair falling across his forehead.

He couldn’t remember having felt happier, as his hands fumbled across the keys alongside Thomas’, colliding and getting tangled up until the music was no longer how it had begun and they were both laughing so much they could barely continue to play.

“I’d forgotten how much fun it is playing with someone else,” Jimmy grinned as they finished the piece. He looked up at Thomas, who was already looking at him, his smile softening the sharpness of his features. “Thanks.”

“What for?” Thomas raised his eyebrows. 

“Playing duets with me,” Jimmy replied, idly playing scales with his right hand as he talked. “We should do it more often. You’re good.”

Thomas snorted. “It was fun. But I’m definitely not good— either you’re a terrible judge of music, Jimmy, or you’re a liar. And I’m afraid I very much suspect it’s the latter.”

“I’m not lying,” Jimmy protested, switching to the C minor scale.

Thomas raised his eyebrows again, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. “I played three chords.”

“Yeah, well, you also haven’t played for… a long time,” Jimmy finished weakly, frowning and looking up. “You never even told me when you stopped playing.”

Thomas put the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag of it, blowing smoke deliberately in Jimmy’s direction. “I don’t have to tell you everything, you know.”

“Yes you do,” Jimmy grinned, nudging Thomas slightly. 

The other man shook his head, but he was smiling too. Before he’d got to know Thomas, Jimmy would have thought that a smile would have looked wrong on him— but it somehow looked much more fitting than the sneers or the blankness. 

“You’re very persistent, Jimmy Kent. And too curious for your own good.” Thomas pointed his cigarette at Jimmy accusingly, the smallest of smiles playing across his lips.

“What’s wrong with being curious?” Jimmy demanded, deftly taking the cigarette from between Thomas’ elegant fingers and putting it to his mouth, feeling the warmth of where it had been in Thomas’ mouth moments before. 

“Nothing,” Thomas shrugged. “But you have to accept that there aren’t answers to everything, or worse— you wish you’d never found the answers in the first place.”

Jimmy considered this for a moment, resisting the urge to choke slightly on the smoke in his lungs as he handed the cigarette back to Thomas, feeling the soft brush of skin as their fingers touched and getting a sudden flashback of Thomas’ hands round his last night in front of the fire. He shook his head slightly as though he was punch-drunk, reaching up and looking over the music sheets.

“Are you going to play anything else with me?”

“Maybe another night,” Thomas said though breaths of smoke. It was so quiet in the servants’ hall that Jimmy could hear the soft exhale of his breath as well as see it in the air that hung over the piano. “I’ll stay and listen to you though, if you don’t object.”

“Why would I object?” Jimmy asked incredulously. 

Thomas merely shrugged, tilting his head back slightly and blowing smoke upwards. Jimmy watched the muscles in his throat contract, and wondered if their sharp line continued past Thomas’ collar. He wondered if Thomas was all straight lines and sharp angles beneath the stiff material of his livery, or whether he was softer, the way he was when he smiled— then he abruptly wondered where on earth that thought had come from and hurriedly looked away from Thomas and back at the piano in front of them, feeling heat suddenly burn his cheeks.

“Are you going to play anything, then?” Thomas asked after several moments, and Jimmy could feel the smoke brushing the shell of his ear, hot and intangible.

“What would you like me to play?” Jimmy asked, looking up at the other man and brushing back the strand of golden blonde hair that had fallen over his forehead as he and Thomas were playing. 

“I don’t mind,” Thomas said indifferently. “Play what pleases you.”

So Jimmy played the piece that Thomas had commented on several nights back, letting the chords and melodies fill the room and fill his mind so that by the time the piece was reaching it’s crescendo, all Jimmy was remotely aware of was the serenity of the notes that flowed from his fingertips, the smoke from Thomas’ cigarette stinging his lungs, and the warm pressure of Thomas’s leg against his where he was sitting silently beside Jimmy on the piano stool.

As the piece slowed in cadence towards its end, Jimmy could feel the weight of Thomas’ gaze on him. He looked up as he effortlessly played the last trio of notes, finding Thomas’ eyes on him, heavy and inscrutable, their pupils blown with silent intensity. There was the subtlest pink tinge to his prominent cheekbones, and when Jimmy smiled at him, they darkened slightly and Thomas averted his eyes, taking a drag of his cigarette. Jimmy couldn’t help noticing how his elegant fingers trembled slightly around it, and the way he could feel how tense Thomas was from where they were pressed together on the piano stool. 

“You play beautifully,” Thomas said quietly and unexpectedly after a moment, glancing up briefly to meet Jimmy’s gaze. His cheeks were still faintly pink. 

“Not really,” Jimmy protested, surprised at the words that came out of his mouth; it was not like him to be modest. “I don’t care about it— I don’t put anything into the notes. They sound nice, but that’s just the composer, not me.”

“I quite disagree,” Thomas raised his eyebrows. “And I would try to argue with you, but by this point I know it’s perfectly pointless trying to argue with you about anything.”

“Glad you’ve got that figured out,” Jimmy flashed Thomas a grin, raking a hand through his blonde hair. 

Thomas rolled his eyes slightly, but offered Jimmy the last of his cigarette. 

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, suddenly noticing that Thomas’ glove was coming unbuttoned as he accepted the cigarette. “Your glove, Mr. Barrow…”

“Oh, is it coming undone again?” Thomas winced, holding it up and trying to button it, but his hands were still shaking slightly. “Blasted thing. I need a new one.”

“Here, let me,” Jimmy offered, stubbing out the cigarette and turning to face Thomas on the piano stool, taking the other man’s hand slightly hesitantly. It felt odd, holding Thomas’ hand the same way he’d held Jimmy’s yesterday… Jimmy wondered what Thomas had thought about when he was holding Jimmy’s hand still; whether he’d noticed the slight flutter of a pulse under the skin, the soft skin that contrasted with all the sharp angles of the bones, the subtle warmth of someone else. His hands skittered along the smooth skin of Thomas’ wrist, feeling the warmth of it under his fingertips.

“You— Jimmy, you don’t need to do that.” It sounded as though Thomas’ jaw was clenched, but Jimmy ignored him, not entirely sure why he wanted to fasten the glove; to feel how hard the leather was in comparison to Thomas’ soft skin. 

“I don’t mind,” Jimmy replied honestly, carefully turning Thomas’ hand over and fastening the little buttons on the glove. He could feel Thomas’ pulse hammering away under the pale skin of his wrist, and let his fingertips linger there for a moment, feeling Thomas. “Do… do you ever let anyone see it?”

“You’ve already had your official question for the day,” Thomas said faintly. 

Jimmy looked up, suddenly realising how close he and Thomas were sitting— Jimmy could see every fleck in Thomas’ infinitely grey eyes and the way the pools of black were heavy in them; could almost taste the heady scent of Thomas’ cologne on the air between them; could feel the soft exhale of breath on his cheek; could almost see the pulse fluttering under the pale skin of Thomas’ neck. He could see the clench of Thomas’ jaw and the sharpness of his cheekbones that didn’t go with the heavy warmth of his eyes. The air between them was thick with smoke and music and the warmth of proximity, and Jimmy suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Swallowing, he slowly let go of Thomas’ hand, but didn’t look away.

“I should be going to bed,” he said quietly, although he had not intended for his voice to be close to a whisper.

Thomas nodded, dropping his gaze instantly and getting up from the piano stool, the space beside Jimmy suddenly feeling cold. He hastily put the sheet music back in place and followed suit, taking the lamp from the table and leading the way into the hallway and up the stairs a silence that did not extend to Jimmy’s thoughts. 

It was only when they were in the hall between his room and Thomas’ that Jimmy spoke suddenly, realising something. 

“You haven’t asked me my question yet, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas smiled slightly, although it didn’t quite soften the sharpness of his features this time. “That’s because I’m not sure whether I want to know the answer.”

“You’ll never know the answer at all if you don’t ask it,” Jimmy pointed out, stomach suddenly knotted with nerves as he regarded Thomas in the soft light of the lamp.

Thomas sighed. “Well, sticking with your theme of friends from earlier…” Thomas broke off, shaking his head, expression strained. “Actually, never mind.”

“You have to ask me something,” Jimmy said indignantly. 

“Fine,” Thomas’ jaw clenched and unclenched, but his tone wasn’t unkind. “Have an easy one, then. It’s Friday; what was your favourite thing about this week?”

Jimmy considered the question for a moment, frowning slightly. “I’m not sure.” 

“I hate to think what your answer would have been if I’d given you a difficult question in that case,” Thomas retorted, raising his eyebrows slightly at Jimmy.

“Give me a moment to think,” Jimmy said impatiently. He briefly scanned the week in his mind; walking back from Ripon in the dusk with Thomas, playing the piano, spending half the nights awake and listening to the darkness, sitting by the warmth of the fire and letting Thomas clean his cut…

“My favourite thing about this week was playing duets,” Jimmy decided, unable to suppress a smile at the recent memory— he could still almost feel the coolness of the keys beneath his fingers and feel the warmth of Thomas next to him.

Thomas blinked in surprise. “I feel flattered. I assumed you’d have chosen winning those free tickets for the pictures or Mr. Carson giving you a pay rise.”

Jimmy felt caught utterly off guard— he suddenly realised that he hadn’t even considered two things which should have so obviously been a favourite part of his week. It was horribly like that, with Thomas; the answers provided more questions than answers. Thomas’ questions were questions that kept on asking, wherever Jimmy was, whatever he was doing. They were inescapable, and answerless, and they made Jimmy feel as though he didn’t know himself at all. 

Jimmy had started out wanting to know more about Thomas, but now he was beginning to feel as though he actually knew more about Thomas than about himself. Everything he seemed to know about himself seemed to be so precarious; the tiniest tug at it and it would suddenly all unravel, tangling up Jimmy’s thoughts until he tripped over them. 

“Jimmy?” Thomas’ voice startled Jimmy from his thoughts, making him look up in surprise to find Thomas staring at him. He looked so much more at ease in the dull glow of the lamp between them than in the daylight— softened somehow; his eyes were warm and dark, his mouth quirked slightly in an unconscious smile, and his pomaded hair was falling out of place, the jet black of it making his skin look paler than ever. 

“Sorry,” Jimmy mumbled. “My mind was elsewhere.”

“So I could see,” Thomas agreed, looking vaguely concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Jimmy swallowed, trying to reassure himself as much as Thomas.

“Well, I’ll say goodnight, then,” Thomas said slowly, still not looking convinced. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes— are you coming to the harvest fair in the village?” Jimmy asked, suddenly remembering that Mrs. Hughes had allowed the staff time off to go down to the October fair as the family were going away to London for the weekend. 

“I might,” Thomas replied indifferently. 

“Please do,” Jimmy said insistently. “We can walk down together.”

“If you like,” Thomas said evenly, but he was smiling slightly in the lamplight. “Well, goodnight, Jimmy.” He bowed his head slightly and turned around, going into his room and closing the door behind him with a soft click. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy replied quietly, even though Thomas had already left. With a heavy sigh, Jimmy turned around and went wearily into his own room, setting the lamp down on his bedside table and closing the door. The soft glow of it made his room seem cosy and cramped as Jimmy slumped down on the bed, thoughts suddenly more tangled than ever— and the scent of Thomas’ cologne and cigarettes still stinging his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear…this chapter came out a lot longer than I’d planned! I hope you don’t mind. I just want to say a massive, massive thank you to each and every one of you that comments on this (on here and on tumblr)… it means so much, and I love hearing all your different thoughts on the story— it really inspires me to see things from a different perspective. It’s so helpful! I hope you enjoyed this chapter- what are your thoughts on what's happening with Jimmy and Thomas at the moment? I'd love to know! Thanks so much for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny fragments of Thomas pieced themselves together in Jimmy’s mind like the beginnings of a stained glass window.

Jimmy didn’t have any time to brood over questions the following morning. In any case, he didn’t want to— he just wanted to talk to Thomas. He’d barely slept again, and what little fragmented sleep he had got had been filled with a young boy with jet black hair and skin as pale as the snow he was chasing. Jimmy had awoken with a jolt to the sound of his alarm, head still full of snowflakes and the trail of footprints he’d been following through a colourless forest, his heart thudding in his chest. 

If Jimmy had somehow imagined that asking Thomas a few questions would stifle his curiosity, he was painfully wrong— all it had done was to make him even more desperate to find out every last thing he could about the other man. The more he discovered, the more fascinated he became. Tiny fragments of Thomas pieced themselves together in Jimmy’s mind like the beginnings of a stained glass window; Thomas listening to his mother playing the piano, Thomas wounded in the trenches, Thomas playing imaginary games with a temporary friend…

It was fast becoming like an addiction; like the cigarettes Thomas smoked every day with Jimmy in the yard or the servants’ hall after hours. Jimmy couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t erase the agitated excitement he felt at the prospect of deciding which question he was going to ask Thomas next and the anticipation of hearing the answer. 

However, much to his annoyance, Jimmy didn’t get the opportunity to talk to Thomas at all the following morning; it was spent in the bustle of preparations for the family’s departure to stay with Lady Rosamund in London for the weekend. The hours dragged on from breakfast until luncheon, Jimmy getting increasingly agitated as he caught glimpses of Thomas in passing but was unable to stop and speak to him. Considering that Jimmy had yet another half-sleepless night, he should have felt exhausted from the flurry of work, but he didn’t— instead he felt inexplicably alert and fidgety, even though he was never short of things to do. 

It wasn’t until the late luncheon that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had organised for the staff before they headed off down to the harvest fair that Jimmy managed to speak to Thomas at all, sliding into his usual opposite him at the table. 

Thomas had been as impassive and inscrutable as ever, but had agreed to walk down to the fair in the village with Jimmy after he’d finished a couple of errands that Lord Grantham had left for him— so as soon as lunch was over and Thomas departed to finish the work he’d been left, Jimmy hurried upstairs to change out of his livery. It had been weeks since he could remember having had an afternoon off— he’d been down to Ripon or to the village on various errands every so often, but the last time he’d had some proper time off was probably the fair in Thirsk.

The memory made guilt stick like a splinter in Jimmy’s throat and he swallowed uncomfortably, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind as he opened his closet and pulled out his favourite pastel blue shirt and navy tie. As he began unbuttoning his livery, his mind drifted back to Thomas. He rarely spent time with Thomas outside the house— occasionally they went on errands together, but that was different, they were still technically at work, and Thomas always maintained his seamless professional front.

Jimmy couldn’t help hoping that he might catch a few more illuminating glimpses of Thomas at the fair; glimpses like the ones he caught when Thomas was bandaging his hand or playing duets with him. Jimmy wondered fleetingly whether Thomas had ever gone to fairs like the harvest one in the village when he was young; if he’d gone with his mother who played the piano so beautifully, or with Charlie McArthur before Thomas lost him, or with his father, who’d sent Thomas away just for caring about someone else.

As Jimmy checked his reflection in the glass on his vanity, he felt an odd feeling curling in the pit of his stomach. It was like nerves and excitement at the same time, curling in his stomach in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Jimmy couldn’t quiet put the feeling into words; it was like nerves and excitement, but it was also a little like the time he’d first watched the forbidding December sky and waited for the snow to fall. 

 

~

 

Much to Jimmy’s distaste, Ivy cornered him as he was waiting in the servants’ hall for Thomas, leaning against the wall by the piano and smoking. He didn’t normally smoke on his own, but he felt fidgety and impatient, and needed to do something with his hands. The smoke stung at his lungs as he sucked it in, but it numbed his feeling of restlessness slightly. 

“Do you want to walk down with me, Jimmy?” Ivy asked hopefully, smiling prettily at him. Jimmy vaguely noted that she was wearing rouge on her cheeks again. 

“I’m walking with Mr. Barrow— sorry,” Jimmy said, insincerely. He took a brief drag of his cigarette, raking a hand through his blonde hair. His hands were shaking slightly from the kind of fidgety agitation that comes with lack of sleep, even though Jimmy felt the last thing from tired. 

“I don’t know why you spend so much time with him,” Ivy muttered, her facing falling. “He’s not nice to anyone.”

“He’s nice to me,” Jimmy said loyally, tapping ash into the glass tray on the table before him just as Thomas appeared in the doorway, and Jimmy instantly stood up properly, stomach suddenly lurching. 

“Who’s nice to you?” Thomas asked idly, quirking an eyebrow at Jimmy.

“You are,” Jimmy replied casually, stubbing his cigarette out and going across to where Thomas was standing by the doorway. “I was just telling Ivy.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows again, but said nothing. 

“Are you ready?” Jimmy asked, looking at the other man expectantly. He rarely saw Thomas out of his uniform; it made him look strangely informal, but Jimmy thought it suited him too— the red of his tie made his complexion more striking than ever. Jimmy suddenly thought how disappointed many girls would be if they knew Thomas could never be interested in them.

“When you are,” Thomas replied, putting on his black bowler hat. 

“Maybe I’ll see you at the fair then, Jimmy?” Ivy asked hopefully.

“Mm. Maybe,” Jimmy replied distractedly, not even glancing back at her as he followed Thomas down the hallway and out into the yard, where the icy October air whipped around them, bitter despite the sun sinking low in the skyline. 

Thomas glanced back at him as they crossed the yard, grey eyes sharp in the glittering late-afternoon sun. “Didn’t you want to walk with the others?”

“No,” Jimmy shook his head vigorously. “Why, do you?” he frowned, falling into step with Thomas as they left the yard and started down the windswept lane. The light October breeze ruffled Jimmy’s golden hair and he could taste rust on the tip of his tongue along with the slight tang of Thomas’ cologne. 

“God no,” Thomas shook his head, fumbling in his pocket and drawing out his box of cigarettes. Jimmy watched Thomas lighting his cigarette with long, elegant fingers and fleetingly thinking that he knew what it was like to touch those hands; how warm they felt under his fingertips. It made the other man seem more real, less ethereal, when Jimmy could remember the way he could feel Thomas’ pulse hammer wildly away under the seamless exterior. 

“Why would you think I would want to, then?” Jimmy retorted once Thomas had lit the cigarette and slid the lighter back into the pocket of his dark coat.

“I imagine Ivy would like it if you did,” Thomas remarked evenly, drawing in a breath of his cigarette and letting the smoke curl out into the crisp afternoon air.

“I imagine you’re right,” Jimmy grinned, making Thomas roll his eyes slightly. 

They walked in silence for several moments, leaves crunching slightly under their footfall and falling wetly to the ground from the stark trees like melted golden snow. 

“Sleep any better last night?” Thomas asked conversationally, tapping ash from his cigarette to the already smouldered leaves that lined the path from Downton to the village. 

Jimmy flinched slightly, wondering for a moment how on earth Thomas could have known that’d he’d once more spent the best part of the night lying half-awake, staring at the ceiling, questions buzzing through his mind like mayflies. Then with a jolt, he remembered that Thomas knew because he’d blurted it out the day before when they were cleaning silver in the upstairs gallery. 

“Oh— I— yes, thank you, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy stuttered.

“You’re a terrible liar, Jimmy,” Thomas commented, glancing sideways at him. His tone was light and easy, but his grey eyes were clouded with a worry that made Jimmy feel surprisingly guilty. “And you have bags under your eyes.”

“Give us a cigarette,” Jimmy said cheerily, trying to detract from the real question that was laced into Thomas’ words— but he knew Thomas wasn’t fooled. Jimmy could pull his charming smile on anyone else and it’d work, but it never worked on Thomas. 

It suddenly struck him as strange; the charm which attracted all the girls never seemed to move Thomas— the person who claimed to be in love with him— in the slightest. Jimmy suddenly wondered what on earth Thomas saw in him if he was so unaffected by the charming smiles and flirtation. 

“You know, I think this deal of ours is pretty unfair,” Thomas commented, breaking through Jimmy’s thoughts by handing him a cigarette and lighting it.

“What do you mean?” Jimmy choked on the smoke from the first inhale, a shot of panic shooting through him at the thought of Thomas refusing to answer any more of his questions.

“Well, the deal was that if either of us back out and refuse to answer a question, we buy the other a months’ worth of cigarettes— but I’m pretty sure you owe me that anyway. Have you ever bought your own since you arrived here?” Thomas quirked his eyebrows slightly at Jimmy, grey eyes carefully neutral, but Jimmy detected the smallest hint of amusement behind them. 

“I don’t see you complaining when I share yours,” Jimmy shrugged, relaxing.

“Steal, Jimmy. You mean steal.”

“No, I mean share,” Jimmy grinned, exhaling lazily into the cold air. “It’s not stealing if you give them back— and I usually only have a few drags of yours.”

“I suppose it’s a fair enough price to pay for being your friend,” Thomas remarked carelessly, making Jimmy frown again, because he didn’t know whether Thomas was being serious or not— and he didn’t quite have the nerve to ask.

“Did you used to go to fairs like this when you were growing up?” Jimmy asked instead, walking slightly more closely to Thomas as the lane narrowed out towards the village. He could vaguely feel the warmth of the other man’s body beside him radiating through the cold air between them. 

“Is that your official question?” Thomas asked, quirking his eyebrows and deliberately blowing smoke at Jimmy so that he spluttered.

“No,” Jimmy coughed, elbowing Thomas indignantly in the ribs. “I was just curious.”

“You’re always curious,” Thomas mused, taking another drag of the cigarette, and Jimmy couldn’t argue with that. “What about you— did you ever go to any?”

“A fair came to our village once every year— in the summer, because the seaside attracted tourists then,” Jimmy replied. “I loved it. I used to spend all my pocket money on the swings… they were my favourite. You know that swooping feeling you get in your stomach that’s kind of like you’re about to be ill but you’re so happy at the same time?” he glanced questioningly sideways at Thomas, slightly breathless. 

Thomas held his gaze for a moment in a way that suddenly made Jimmy feel as though he could not let go. “I know,” he replied after a moment, voice as even as ever, smoke curling from his mouth. 

“Well, that’s what I loved about them,” Jimmy continued, looking away from Thomas and towards the horizon that was troubled with a tangle of sun and cloud, “that feeling. When I was young I used to wish I could feel like that all the time.”

Thomas didn’t reply, merely continued to smoke silently as they walked, and Jimmy lapsed into silence because he somehow felt as though he’d missed something that had been said— even though he’d been listening attentively. He had the peculiar feeling that he was suddenly a child again and had completely missed the point of a conversation because he was simply too young to understand.

Frowning slightly, Jimmy kicked at the clumps of crimson and amber leaves as they walked down into the village, the feeble rays of sun still not quite courageous enough to create any warmth against the unforgiving frost. 

 

~

 

The fair was small but full of bustle and noise in the middle of the village green. A faint mist was beginning to curl around the square by the time Jimmy and Thomas arrived, making the lights and colours of the rides and stalls more vivid than ever— as though they were colouring in a black and white picture alongside the orange leaves of the popular trees surrounding the square. 

“Oh Christ, Ivy’s coming over,” Jimmy scowled as he and Thomas came to halt at the edge of the green. He blew smoke from his lungs and dropped the cigarette Thomas had provided him with to the cold ground. “She was so desperate to get me to take her round the bloody fair.”

“So why don’t you?” Thomas asked evenly, slowly blowing smoke into the mist. He looked more sombre than ever standing in the mist in his black coat and bowler hat. 

Jimmy frowned. “What?”

“She’s pretty, she’s only marginally annoying, and you know she’d do anything for you. Perhaps you should spend some of your time with her—” Thomas broke off, taking a long drag of his cigarette, eyes fluttering closed for a fleeting second, “—rather than spending all your time with me.” The smoke got caught in his words, spilling out into the air between them.

“But— I like spending time with you, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said honestly, suddenly feeling wrong-footed.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Jimmy,” Thomas replied evenly, expression carefully indifferent— but his eyes were like broken glass again, and Jimmy didn’t know how he’d shattered it. He wanted to reach out, but he didn’t know how not to get cut.

“I’m not being kind, Mr. Barrow,” he protested, frowning at Thomas. “I’m being sincere.”

“Are you really saying you’d rather spend your time with me than with a pretty girl?” Thomas asked dryly, finishing his cigarette and dropping it to the ground beside Jimmy’s, where he crushed them both with the heel of his shoe. 

Jimmy frowned; when Thomas put it like that, it did sound silly. Ivy was exactly the kind of girl Jimmy used to go for in a heartbeat— of course he’d rather spend time with her than with Thomas. Wouldn’t he? 

“I suppose I could take her to a couple of rides,” Jimmy conceded. “She is… very pretty,” he added, still frowning slightly. 

“Very.” Thomas seemed to be attempting to smile, but his jaw was clenched too much for it to work. 

“But… I’ll see you later?” Jimmy found himself asking expectantly as he turned to go, somehow feeling as though he was doing something wrong. The whole atmosphere felt off as Thomas nodded mutely, his eyes flickering slightly like clouds sliding across the sun— and then they were inscrutable once more.

With a sigh, Jimmy turned away from him and crossed the green with a sinking feeling in his stomach he tried hard to ignore. 

 

~

 

Jimmy regretted agreeing to go round the fair with Ivy almost immediately; she chattered away constantly with no room for silence and hung onto his arm, giggling, which somehow irritated Jimmy intensely. He disliked the pretty, flowery scent she was wearing and she said all the wrong things— they were too naïve and painfully easy to interpret. By the time they’d gone on the carousel and Jimmy had bought her ginger pop from one of the stalls, he could barely stand the sight of her. This in turn made Jimmy feel increasingly frustrated and confused; he simply didn’t understand why he failed to find Ivy attractive. Thomas was right; she was exactly the type Jimmy would have gone for only a few months earlier. He just didn’t understand why he couldn’t like her now. He desperately tried to appreciate her pink lips and curvy figure and her soft wavy hair, but he just couldn’t bring himself to find her attractive. 

It was beginning to get dark when he eventually managed to shake her off and find Thomas. He was standing alone under one of the stark popular trees, smoking again. Although he looked solemn and as much of a closed book as ever, he his mouth pulled up into a slight smile when Jimmy approached— although it didn’t reach his eyes, which remained clouded. 

“Have fun?” he asked lightly, offering Jimmy the cigarette. 

“God no. It was awful,” Jimmy shook his head, taking the cigarette gratefully. 

“Poor Ivy.” Thomas’ mouth twitched.

“What do you mean, ‘poor Ivy’?” Jimmy exclaimed, choking on the smoke as he looked at Thomas indignantly. “Poor me! I was the one who had to endure her telling me all about the new dress she’s going to buy and the plays she wants to go and see. How did I never notice how boring girls are before?”

Thomas didn’t say anything to this, merely raised his eyebrows slightly as Jimmy handed back his cigarette, feeling as though he’d somehow missed the significance of the gesture. 

“So, do you want to go on any of the rides?” Jimmy offered, shivering slightly in his coat. “I know it’s starting to get dark, but we should still have a little while. My treat.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Thomas frowned. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Just think of it as payment for all the cigarettes I’ll take from you in the future,” Jimmy grinned, and knew he’d said the right thing when a grin split across Thomas’ features and he shook his head slightly, finishing his cigarette. 

“Alright, then.” Thomas ground the cigarette under his foot and shoved his hands into the pocket of his coat. “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s see if we can win something,” Jimmy suggested. 

Thomas shrugged easily. “Up to you.”

They both crossed the darkened village green in companionable silence. The lights of the scattered rides and the lamps of the stalls still open made it look cosy and inviting in comparison to the stark iciness of the night that swirled around them, numbing and starless. Jimmy could feel the slight warmth of Thomas beside him and smell the familiar scent of smoky cologne and smiled slightly, feeling at ease for the first time since he’d arrived at the fair. 

They spent ages going round all the different stalls, laughing at the prizes and commenting on the various spices and groceries Mrs. Patmore would want to buy. Jimmy couldn’t remember having had so much fun. Going around the fair with Thomas was completely different to going round the fair with Ivy; Thomas didn’t chatter in an endless stream of meaningless words, instead he spoke intermittently and said things that either made Jimmy laugh or intrigued and frustrated him all at once because he felt he didn’t quite understand their full meaning. His comments might frequently be stark and blunt, but Thomas was rarely literal in his words.

Being around Thomas was simultaneously the easiest thing in the world and the hardest— it was easy because Jimmy had never felt more comfortable around someone, and it was the hardest because it was somehow never quite enough. Jimmy felt as though he still only saw the tiniest glimmers of Thomas, and he always, always wanted to know more.

“Perhaps we should be heading back,” Thomas suggested when frost was beginning to sparkle on the ground and night had fallen properly, cloaking the square in darkness. He paused, taking a swig of his ginger beer. Jimmy noticed how it made his lips redder than usual, striking against the pallor of his face.

“Alright,” Jimmy conceded with a sigh, draining the last of his drink. “One last thing, though, if it’s all the same to you, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Jimmy pointed over at the edge of the green. “The swings.”

Thomas rolled his eyes slightly, but he was smiling too. “Alright.”

“Will you come on too?” 

“If you like,” Thomas replied, taking another swig of his ginger beer as they crossed the green towards the swings. The mist from earlier had cleared slightly, and the stars were visible in the night’s sky as they paid for the swings and clambered into the cold wooden swing. The fair was mainly deserted around them now, just the last few stalls packing up. 

The swings were just the same as Jimmy had remembered; the wonderful swooping feeling in his stomach, the cold wind stinging his cheeks, the smile splitting his face. Thomas was smiling too— a proper unguarded, genuine smile that showed all his teeth and made his eyes crinkle round the edges as they soared backwards and forwards, the starry black sky swirling overhead until Jimmy felt dizzy with happiness and nostalgia. 

 

~

 

It was nearing ten o’clock when they finally departed from the fair and started up the darkened lane towards Downton, stars glittering in the loneliness of the sky they punctured. They walked slowly, Thomas smoking— occasionally passing the cigarette over to Jimmy. The air was cold and still all around them, tinted with frost, and the branches of the trees on either side of the lane shivered. 

“I have to say, I enjoyed this fair a lot better than the last one,” Thomas mused, taking his cigarette back from Jimmy and putting it to his lips. Jimmy felt dimly surprised at how strongly the guilt lodged itself in his throat at Thomas’ words, erasing all the comfortable happiness that had accumulated itself over the afternoon. 

“Don’t,” Jimmy said, swallowing, and Thomas looked around in surprise at the hurt in Jimmy’s voice, grey eyes far more vivid than the stars in the pallor of his face. 

“Sorry,” he said after a moment, still studying Jimmy closely. Jimmy could feel the strength of the other man’s gaze on him, and felt uncomfortably exposed. He always felt as though Thomas had an uncanny knack of being able to see right through him when he chose to— when Jimmy least wanted him to. Sometimes it felt as though Thomas could see more he understood in Jimmy than Jimmy himself could. 

“You haven’t got anything to apologise for,” Jimmy said edgily, fiddling with the buttons on his coat and not meeting Thomas’ gaze as they continued to walk.

“Quite the contrary, I’m afraid,” Thomas replied quietly. 

Jimmy frowned, unscrewing the lid of the bottle of strawberry wine he’d won at one of the stalls. He took a gulp, feeling the sweet liquid burn at his throat, and held it out to Thomas. 

“Let’s not talk about it,” Jimmy said as Thomas took a swig from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s ask our questions for today.”

“You first,” Thomas exhaled, smoke curling into the frosty night air in front of them. He handed the bottle back to Jimmy, and Jimmy felt the warmth of his fingers for a second as he took it and screwed the lid back on.

“I always go first,” Jimmy pointed out, glancing at Thomas. He was a shadow beside him in the darkness, eyes reflecting the stars and blurring into the shadows. 

“It was your idea,” Thomas countered, but he took a long drag of his cigarette and paused. “Why are you friends with me?” 

Jimmy stopped in his tracks, staring at Thomas. The night around them suddenly seemed stiller and more silent than ever without their footsteps, as though it had only existed while they walked. Thomas’ eyes were all the broken glass that Jimmy sought to piece together and create a picture that made sense, and they sliced through him as he held Thomas’ gaze.

“Is it out of guilt?” Thomas asked evenly, although his fingers shook around his cigarette, and Jimmy was still cut by his gaze. 

“What— no. No!” Jimmy exclaimed, his voice shattering the silence around them as he stared incredulously at Thomas. “How— how can you think that?”

Thomas didn’t say anything, but his eyes were more poignant than the stars, and Jimmy’s heart was thudding in his chest. 

“Of course it’s not because of that!”

“Then tell me why,” Thomas said quietly.

“Thomas…” Jimmy began more softly, swallowing hard and keeping his gaze fixed on the path ahead that wound through the darkness back to familiarity. “Perhaps… perhaps when I first offered to make friends with you, a tiny fraction of it was out of guilt— but that’s not the reason I’m friends with you now.”

“Then why are you friends with me now?” Thomas pressed, voice more uneven than usual.

“I…” Jimmy frowned, trying to think. His thoughts were suddenly like mist; impossible to catch and understand. He shook his head in frustration. “I can’t explain it.”

Thomas said nothing, but Jimmy could see the clench of his jaw in his peripheral vision. 

“I don’t think there is just one reason— or not one I can explain, anyway,” Jimmy said slowly, fiddling with the buttons on his coat. “But I do know that you fascinate me. No matter how much I speak to you, I can never figure you out. What you say and what you do don’t match; your eyes never say what your mouth does. Every time I think I have you figured out, you’ll do something and I’ll realise I’m not even close to figuring you out.” 

Jimmy frowned in contemplation, still fiddling absent-mindedly with the buttons on his coat as they walked through darkness and silence. “You’re my friend… you’re my friend— because you’re the first person besides myself I’ve ever been interested in. I’m only friends with you because I want to be.”

The words that had spilled from his mouth and now hung around them like the mist that was starting to obscure the stars startled Jimmy, even though they had come from him. He glanced around at Thomas, wide-eyed at his own revelation. 

Thomas’ gaze was utterly unreadable. His jet black hair was ruffled by the cold breeze, his skin so pale that together he looked as though he was in black-and-white. But his grey eyes were full of colour as he looked at Jimmy.

He didn’t say anything, but after a moment he tentatively handed Jimmy his cigarette, linking them together in the bitter darkness for a split second. 

“Thanks,” Jimmy mumbled, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the words that he could feel still lingering around them like the smoke from Thomas’ cigarette. His heart was thudding in his chest. It was strange how you sometimes didn’t know the answer to a question until you were asked. 

“I don’t know what to say.” Thomas’ voice still sounded uneven as he fell into step with Jimmy. Jimmy could taste the heady hint of his cologne on the cold air between them, and it was oddly reassuring. “I think that’s one of the nicest things someone has said about me.”

“I wasn’t being nice, I was just being honest,” Jimmy replied, handing the cigarette back to Thomas and taking a long gulp of the strawberry wine. 

“Well, thank you,” Thomas replied quietly. 

They walked in silence for several moments, and Jimmy felt acutely aware of the warmth of Thomas’s body beside him in the frosty night air. He could smell Thomas’ heady cologne more clearly than the decaying leaves and the muddy ground, and could feel the slight brush of their hands as they walked up the narrow path. Jimmy had never wished more that he knew what Thomas was thinking; it frustrated him endlessly to look at Thomas and have utterly no idea what he was thinking or feeling when Thomas seemed to be able to know what he was thinking in a single glance. Jimmy felt as though he had never felt more frustrated by Thomas’ complete inscrutability. 

“What are you thinking?” Jimmy asked suddenly. All the questions he’d been trying to choose from all day suddenly disappeared— all he wanted to know was what was behind the careful composure of Thomas’ eyes that moment; to see how he saw things, even if it was only for a moment— a split second. It suddenly seemed more important than anything to know what the other man was thinking. 

Thomas blinked, smoke curling from between his lips as he looked at Jimmy in the darkness. “I’m sorry?”

“That’s my question,” Jimmy said decisively. “I want to know what you think.”

“I’ve thought quite a lot over the years. Perhaps you should narrow it down,” Thomas remarked lightly, holding out the last of his cigarette for Jimmy. 

“Right now. I want to know what you’re thinking right now,” Jimmy clarified, taking the cigarette and shivering slightly at the brush of warm skin in contrast to the frosty air curling around them, whimsical and lonely. 

“Are you sure?” Thomas asked quietly.

Jimmy swallowed, glancing at Thomas. He was as unreadable as the night that swirled around them; eyes that forever contradicted his mouth. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Thomas sighed, his breath as smoky in the bitterness of the night as the smoke that stung Jimmy’s lungs. “I’m thinking that I wish I had your courage. I’m thinking that the stars look so far away, and that I wish I didn’t feel the way I do for you. I’m thinking that happiness isn’t really happiness because it’s so fleeting— and yet I’m so happy right now. I’m thinking how much you fascinate me, Jimmy.”

“But— I’m not interesting at all,” Jimmy blinked, heart thudding in his chest so loudly he was afraid that Thomas could hear it in the rustle of their footsteps. 

“I disagree.” Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly. 

“No one’s ever thought I’m interesting before,” Jimmy blurted.

“You don’t know that,” Thomas frowned at him.

“I do. I’m charming, I’m handsome—”

“— Not to mention extremely modest,” Thomas said dryly. 

“If you weren’t my superior, Mr. Barrow, I’d have to tell you to shut up,” Jimmy retorted, but he nudged Thomas gently to show he wasn’t being serious.

“It’s just as well I’m your superior then,” Thomas quipped, the smallest of smiles pulling at his mouth. 

“But what I meant to say is— that’s it. I might be charming, but that doesn’t make me interesting. I’ve never had to be interesting,” Jimmy muttered, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He hadn’t quite meant to say it— he hadn’t realised it was true until he’d spoken the words. 

“You know something,” Thomas remarked, regarding Jimmy intently. “For someone so clever, you can be remarkably stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Jimmy choked, but Thomas was smiling. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“No more questions,” Thomas said quietly, throwing his finished cigarette to the ground. “You’ve used up your question for today.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Jimmy said reluctantly. 

“I suppose there is.”

“I’m counting on it,” Jimmy said, grinning at Thomas.

Thomas suddenly smiled back. It was just a small smile, but it was genuine, and it lit up the grey of his eyes until it Jimmy felt as though he couldn’t look away from them. 

They lapsed back into silence as they continued walking. Jimmy could see Downton in the distance now, and although his feet ached with tiredness, he had never felt more awake. A kind of unspoken warmth lingered between them— perhaps it was due to what they’d just said, or perhaps it was the result of the cold strawberry wine, Jimmy wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he suddenly thought that he couldn’t remember a moment where he’d felt more alive than he did at that moment, walking in the darkness with Thomas under a sky where the mist blew out the stars like candles and there were more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little longer than usual, I've had a super busy week! Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for it. Thanks again for all your utterly amazing comments/kudos/general lovely support... It's ridiculous how happy it makes me, massive thanks to each and every one of you! c': I'll try and update as soon as I can (at the latest a week today, but hopefully sooner if I possibly can)... Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to know what you're thinking of the story at this point c: <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to ask Thomas a hundred questions, but he didn’t know if the answers would even help now.

A thin drizzle was beginning to fall in icy sheets from the darkening sky when Jimmy ducked out into the yard, carefully closing the door behind him. It was just after supper, and as soon as Jimmy had seen Thomas slip away from the busy table, cigarettes and lighter in one hand, he’d followed; much to Jimmy’s disappointment, he hadn’t had the chance to speak a single word to Thomas all day, as the latter had been away on an errand in Ripon. Despite the characteristic bustle of the household, Jimmy had been surprised at how oddly lonely it felt without him.

“How was Ripon?” Jimmy asked, the bitterness of the November night making his skin smart as he crossed the yard to where Thomas was standing silently, staring up at the blank sky with an unreadable expression.

At the sound of Jimmy’s voice, he turned around, smoke curling through the rain. He shrugged carelessly in response to the question, but moved over slightly to allow space for Jimmy to stand beside him under the eaves, away from the icy drizzle that stuck the dead leaves to the cold ground.

“Uninteresting,” Thomas replied after a moment, tapping ash to the wet concrete at their feet with a swift, elegant movement of his hand. “How was your day?” he countered, passing Jimmy his cigarette.

Jimmy took it gratefully, huddling closer to Thomas away from the bitter rain. He shivered slightly as Thomas’ fingers brushed his, suddenly noticing how he could smell Thomas’ distinctive cologne mingled with the smoke around them in the small space hidden away from the rain. 

“It was awful,” Jimmy replied honestly, taking a brief drag on the cigarette and suppressing the urge to cough. It was true; he had spent the entire day feeling agitated, distracted, and distinctly fed up. The hours had seemed to drag on even more than usual without the brief glimpses of Thomas in the hallways or the prospect sitting beside him at luncheon even if they barely exchanged a handful of words.

Jimmy hadn’t realised how much he relied on Thomas’ company throughout the course of a day; how boring things were without him— he fleetingly wondered how he had managed before they had become friends. It suddenly seemed like a very long time ago. 

Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly as Jimmy took another brief drag of the cigarette, expelling smoke into the small, sheltered space. “Awful?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said seriously, handing Thomas back the cigarette and feeling the warm brush of skin in contrast to the stinging rain. Not only had the day been tedious, but Jimmy had also found himself increasingly distracted by thoughts of the previous night and the walk back to Downton in the darkness. Something had changed on that walk home; just something minute, subtle, almost non-existent. Jimmy couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but he knew it had changed. Something had changed without him even realising it, and now none of his thoughts quite fitted together in the same way as before.

“It can’t have been all that bad,” Thomas remarked coolly, startling Jimmy from the thread of his thoughts and making him glance up, meeting Thomas’ quizzical grey eyes through the shadows. 

“It was. I may have induced Mr. Carson’s small breakdown over the silverware this evening,” Jimmy admitted, raking a hand through his blonde hair. “He hates me.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows questioningly again, smoke unfurling from his lungs into the air around them— but this time Jimmy shook his head. He didn’t need Thomas to know that his thoughts had been so inundated with questions and their possible answers that he’d barely been able to concentrate all day. Try as he might, Jimmy just couldn’t erase the curiosity that had been tugging at his subconscious with increasing strength every day. Every new question just seemed to open a whole new door, and Jimmy couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Thomas’ mouth quirked slightly as he blew smoke out into the cold rain. “Nothing unexpected, then.”

Jimmy grinned, glancing up at Thomas. “No. Ivy’s been bugging me all day, though. I told you it was a mistake to let her take me round the fair. She wants me to take her to some boring play next month.”

“Are you going to?” Thomas asked evenly, tapping ash to the ground and glancing round at Jimmy, eyes greyer than the falling rain.

“Am I hell!” Jimmy snorted, accepting another drag of the cigarette and feeling the warmth from where it had been between Thomas’ lips moments before.

“Perhaps you should,” Thomas said impassively, taking the cigarette back and taking a long drag of it, fingers steady. 

Jimmy looked around at him incredulously in the dark, heart thudding. “What?”

“You should spend more time with her— spending all your time with me won’t do you any favours. It certainly won’t encourage people to like you,” Thomas added wryly, exhaling smokily. His eyes didn’t quite meet Jimmy’s.

“I don’t care about people,” Jimmy frowned, feeling wrong-footed.

“You should,” Thomas said tersely, tapping ash to the wet concrete floor and still not looking at Jimmy properly. Jimmy could see the clench of his jaw in the shadows.

“Well, I don’t care about what I should or shouldn’t do, either,” Jimmy retorted, beginning to feel angry. “Do you not _want_ to spend time with me or something, Mr. Barrow? Because if that’s why you’re trying to push me onto Ivy, then just _say_ so.”

“Of course—” Thomas’ voice was quiet and pained, and his eyes flickered to capture Jimmy’s for a split second through the smoke and rain and shadows, “— of _course_ I want to spend time with you, Jimmy.”

“Then why are you so keen for me to spend all my time with bloody _Ivy_ instead of you?” Jimmy demanded, the words coming out more forcefully than he’d intended. He couldn’t quite help it; he’d wanted to talk to Thomas all day, and now it was all falling apart and Jimmy didn’t even know why. He hated not understanding, hated how helpless and naïve it made him feel. It was like trying to read in the dark.

“I just… I don’t want to be the reason you’re isolated from everyone else,” Thomas replied quietly, smoke clouding his words. “I want you to be happy.”

“And what about your happiness?” Jimmy challenged, eyes holding Thomas’ behind the tendrils of smoke. Their grey flickered, cutting Jimmy out.

Thomas’ jaw clenched, and he abruptly dropped his cigarette to the ground. “I’ve had a long day. I’m going to bed.”

“But, Mr. Barrow—”

“Goodnight, Jimmy.” Thomas ducked out into the icy drizzle without looking back and crossed the yard briskly, the fine rain unsettling his pomaded hair.

“Mr. Barrow—” Jimmy protested angrily after his retreating figure, but Thomas didn’t turn around. Warm yellow light spilled out from the kitchen when he opened the door, and then was extinguished instantly when he pulled it shut behind him, leaving Jimmy shivering in the November drizzle, anger and confusion clawing at his lungs along with the remnants of the smoke still lingering in the dark air.

He exhaled heavily in frustration, raking a hand through his slightly damp blonde hair and turning round. The rain soaked mournfully through his livery as he stood in the middle of the yard, eyes still fixed on the door which Thomas had shut, something sharp lodged between his lungs that suddenly made it hurt to draw a breath.

Jimmy simply couldn’t understand what he’d said wrong. Thomas was difficult to read at the best of times, but when he cut Jimmy out, it was utterly impossible. Once again, Jimmy felt as though the real essence of their conversation had eluded him completely. It didn’t matter how many questions he asked; when it came to Thomas, Jimmy suddenly felt as though he would always be completely out of his depth.

Before Jimmy had met Thomas, he’d prided himself on being superior and very perceptive about everything that was going on around him— but Thomas had the ability of making Jimmy feel as though he was six years old again and cupping melted snow in his numb hands.

More often than he liked, talking to Thomas made Jimmy realise how lost and alone he really was in the huge wide world; how little he understood; how impossible and unknown things really were.

With another heavy sigh, Jimmy leant back against the cold brick of the wall, tilting his head up to stare at the needles of rain falling endlessly from the murky, black sky and feeling them sting his cheeks. Guilt curdled in his stomach as he remembered how Thomas had been staring up at the sky when Jimmy had come out into the yard, before it had all somehow got muddled. He felt certain that it was his fault— but he was uncertain of how to fix it, because he didn’t know what he’d done wrong in the first place. He wanted to ask Thomas a hundred questions, but he didn’t know if the answers would even help now.

As Jimmy brushed a couple of stray strands of blonde hair out of his eyes, he suddenly caught a glimpse of silver out of the corner of his eye and looked down, seeing Thomas’ lighter lying on the damp concrete amongst the stray wet leaves.

He just stared at it for a moment— the lighter that Thomas used every day, that he used to light the cigarettes he and Jimmy shared during breaks or on errands or in the servants’ hall after hours— and then picked it up, sliding the smooth, cold metal through his fingers, mind suddenly made up.

 

 

~

Jimmy’s hair was still damp from the bitter rain when he knocked hesitantly on Thomas’ door, the cold lighter concealed in one hand, what was left of the strawberry wine he’d won yesterday at the fair in the other. He swallowed impatiently as he waited in the hallway, the lighter like a lump of ice in his palm. He felt his stomach twist at the sound of footsteps. 

Thomas didn’t say anything when he opened the door, but a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes like ripples in water.

“You left your lighter in the yard,” Jimmy said uncertainly, holding it out.

“Thank you.” Thomas’ voice was unreadable, but he paused for a split second before taking the from Jimmy’s outstretched hand, his pale fingers grazing the skin of Jimmy’s palm as he did so. Even though he’d claimed he was tired and wanted to go to bed when he left Jimmy standing in the yard, he obviously hadn’t even started getting changed for bed— he was still in his trousers and shirt, although he’d taken off the jacket and rolled the sleeves up. It should have made him look more relaxed, but his stance was rigid and emotionless. Jimmy had got so used to seeing him act differently that he’d forgotten that Thomas used to be like this all the time— and still was, with everyone else.

The thought somehow made Jimmy feel oddly grateful. 

“Can…” Jimmy shifted uncomfortably, eyes flickering to meet Thomas’ inscrutable ones. “Can I come in for a moment?”

It was a simple enough request in terms of words, but Jimmy felt as though it bridged a wide gap that hung heavily in the air between them.

Thomas’ jaw clenched for a second, but then he nodded stiffly, stepping aside to let Jimmy inside before closing the door softly behind him.

Jimmy had only ever been in Thomas’ room once before; the time he’d made the shaky offer of friendship he could never possibly have imagined would become so strong. The room looked almost exactly as it had that time, only it was more dimly lit in the darkness, softer somehow. The lamp on the desk giving the atmosphere an impression of warmth that had not been there on the day Jimmy had first visited, when Thomas’ face had been bloodied and ruined with cowardice which was not his own.

It suddenly felt like such a long time ago with Thomas standing in front of him now, blood and bruises gone. His grey eyes were cautious and poignantly grey, and his face was a blank page, but it somehow touched Jimmy to see him standing there so simply in front of him, inky black hair softened from the rain, the sleeves of his powder blue shirt rolled up, his chest rising and falling gently in the silence that seemed to take up all the space of the room.

“Mr. Barrow— whatever it was that I said to upset you, I apologise,” Jimmy offered sincerely, his voice uncomfortably loud in the heavy silence that filled the space between them.  He raised his gaze to meet Thomas’ grey one. “I don’t know what it was, but I am sorry. Truly, Mr. Barrow.”

“You didn’t—” Thomas broke off, shaking his head and pushing a hand through his dark hair, fingers shockingly pale in contrast. The line of his jaw was sharp and rigid.

“Listen,” Jimmy cut in bluntly, fiddling with the lid of the strawberry wine. “Can’t— can’t we just forget it all and drink this and ask our questions?”

For a moment Thomas merely regarded him silently, grey eyes as unreadable as ever— but then clench in his jaw relaxed slightly, and the line of his shoulders became less rigid, as though he’d heaved a sigh of relief.

“I suppose,” he agreed, a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth even though his eyes were still stormy behind their opaque grey. But Jimmy knew Thomas; knew that he’d been forgiven whatever it was that he’d said which had offended or upset the other man. Relief washed over him, making him feel suddenly light and happy.

“Great,” Jimmy grinned. He crossed the room and flopped down on the floor, sitting cross-legged with his back against Thomas’ bed. “Otherwise you’d have owed me a pack of cigarettes.”

“Shouldn’t you be pleased about that?” Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly, but after a moment’s hesitation, he sank down opposite Jimmy on the floor.

Jimmy fleetingly thought that the pale blue of his shirt suited him— it should have made him look colder, but it somehow made the pallor of his skin soft and real. Jimmy could almost see the faint traces of blue veins under the pale flesh of Thomas’ exposed forearms from where the shirt sleeves were rolled up, where Jimmy knew that if he brushed his fingertips he would be able to feel the stammer of his pulse.

“I’d rather ask you questions than get free cigarettes,” Jimmy replied honestly, unscrewing the bottle of strawberry wine.

“I suppose you get free cigarettes from me all the time, so it’s not really much of a consolation prize for you, is it?” Thomas remarked coolly, but his mouth twitched slightly.

“It’s not just that,” Jimmy said, because it wasn’t. But then he fell silent, because he found that his mind was suddenly too full of thoughts that were like mayflies; all blooming and dying before he could reach them.

There was a brief silence as Thomas lit a cigarette and the icy drizzle pattered against the darkened windowpane at the head of Thomas’ bed, cold and unforgiving. Jimmy opened the wine properly and took a gulp of the cool, sweet liquid, letting it burn its way down his throat along with the faint trace of smoke from Thomas’ cigarette.  

“Thank you for bringing this up to me,” Thomas said after a moment, slipping the lighter back into his pocket. He smiled slightly, holding Jimmy’s gaze for a split second before looking away towards the window where little droplets of rain made tear-tracks down the glass.

Jimmy was content to sit in silence; silences with Thomas were rarely uncomfortable, merely companionable. Jimmy liked how Thomas didn’t feel the need to fill every quiet moment with words if there was nothing to be said. Sometimes silence said more than words, anyway. Jimmy was more loquacious, tended to talk more— but it was never small-talk. Small-talk was words that meant there was nothing to say, and Jimmy had everything to say to Thomas.

“I’m going up to London tomorrow,” Thomas said suddenly, looking up at Jimmy over the smoke of his cigarette. Jimmy didn’t realise that he had been studying Thomas until the other man met his gaze.

“What?”

“The valet that went up with them has been taken ill, and so I’m to fill in,” Thomas replied evenly, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“But what about our questions?” Jimmy blurted indignantly, setting down the wine.

“I’m sure they can wait until I’m back,” Thomas said, smiling slightly. 

“How long will you be gone?” Jimmy demanded, disappointment suddenly heavy in his stomach. He was fleetingly surprised at the degree of panic that was combined with disappointment at the thought of not being able to see Thomas and ask him questions for a few days— he hadn’t realised quite how much he’d come to rely on it.

“Just until Monday evening,” Thomas replied, exhaling smokily into the dimly lit room. “Not long.”

Jimmy frowned, taking another gulp of the wine before offering it to Thomas, thoughts tangled.

“Anyway,” Thomas said, taking a long swig of the wine and setting the bottle back down on the carpet between them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Questions.”

“Do you want to go first?” Jimmy asked, lifting the bottle to his lips and hoping that the wine would numb the sudden, inexplicable feeling of unease tugging at his chest that he couldn’t quite place.  

“No, I haven’t decided on one yet,” Thomas replied, resting his arm across his knee, cigarette held loosely between his fingers so that smoke unfurled in tendrils into the air around them.  

“Me neither,” Jimmy admitted, even though questions had been spiralling through his thoughts all day. “Let’s talk about something else first.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Thomas asked evenly, taking another long drink. Jimmy watched the muscles in his throat convulse as he swallowed.

Jimmy shrugged, brushing a stray stand of hair out of his eyes as he accepted another drag of Thomas’ cigarette.

“How’s your hand?” Thomas asked suddenly as Jimmy handed the cigarette back, feeling the slight warmth of Thomas’ fingers against his for a split second. “I meant to ask yesterday.”

“Take a look if you like,” Jimmy replied carelessly, taking a brief sip of wine and holding out his hand for Thomas.

“Have you been redressing it like I told you to?” Thomas asked, tapping his cigarette over the ash tray.

“I forgot,” Jimmy lied. “I don’t think I’d know how, anyway. You should do it.”

Jimmy couldn’t tell if Thomas was sighing or simply expelling smoke from his lungs.

“Please,” Jimmy added, not quite sure what made him say it.

“Alright, alright,” Thomas relented, handing his cigarette to Jimmy and standing up, going over to the vanity where he pulled out a small first aid box. Jimmy watched with interest, wondering fleetingly what else Thomas kept in the vanity. Was it just hair pomade and old newspapers and cigarettes, or were there more unexpected things too? A journal? Novels? Objects which would help piece more fragments of Thomas together in Jimmy’s mind?

“What else do you keep in there?” Jimmy blurted curiously as Thomas slid the drawer shut and sat back down opposite Jimmy on the floor. He deftly took the cigarette back from between Jimmy’s fingers and took a brief drag before placing it back.

“Keep in where?” he asked casually through his exhale, opening the first aid box and pulling out a roll of bandage and a couple of safety pins. Jimmy watched his long fingers expertly measure out the material and carefully snip it to size.

“The vanity,” Jimmy clarified. He unscrewed the lid of the strawberry wine and took another a long gulp as he watched Thomas prepare the bandage.

“Is that your official question of the day?” Thomas asked, eyes flickering up to meet Jimmy’s, a touch of amusement colouring their grey.

“No,” Jimmy replied, holding out his hand for Thomas to redress. The other man expertly began unwinding the previous bandage. He maintained a seamless professionalism, but Jimmy knew him better now; Jimmy knew that frequently, the more impassive Thomas appeared, the more he felt. The thought that he knew Thomas even just a little better filled him with inexplicable delight.

“Well,” Thomas replied softly, gently dabbing at the wound on Jimmy’s palm that was beginning to scab over. His gloved hand cupped Jimmy’s, holding it still, and Jimmy could feel the contrast of leather and Thomas’ the soft skin of Thomas’ fingers against his own. “In that case, I’m afraid I won’t answer you.”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed, making Thomas look up in mild surprise. “Why not?”

“I can’t go giving too much of myself away now, can I?” Thomas replied, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he returned to his ministrations on Jimmy’s hand. His fingers were long and pale compared to the golden brown skin of Jimmy’s hand, and Jimmy watched them as they worked deftly, the warmth of their touch lulling him slightly— or perhaps it was just the effects of the wine.

For several moments, Jimmy just watched Thomas in fascination— the way his dark hair flopped across his forehead as he bent over Jimmy’s hand; the way he frowned slightly in concentration; the way his lips were stained red from the wine; the way he kept his hands perfectly steady but Jimmy could see the sharp rise and fall of his chest where the buttons were undone, exposing a sliver of pale flesh.

“Did you do the dressings on your hand yourself?” Jimmy asked curiously, still watching Thomas’ expert fingers winding the fresh bandage round his hand and up his wrist where Jimmy knew Thomas could feel the hint of his pulse. He fleetingly wondered how fast it was going.

Thomas looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. They were more unguarded than they had been before he’d started tending to Jimmy’s hand. It was as if Thomas couldn’t cut himself off from Jimmy when they were too close; couldn’t keep himself completely unaffected by the proximity. The thought gave Jimmy an inexplicable sense of satisfaction.

“You know, after they let you out of hospital,” Jimmy added, heart suddenly thumping faster in his chest. He could feel Thomas’ fingers frozen in place where they held his wrist, and wondered if Thomas could feel the change in his pulse.

“Yes. After it had begun to heal properly,” Thomas replied slowly, eyes not leaving Jimmy’s. They were heavy and grey in the soft lighting of the room, like snow-laden skies. “It made me feel sick to look at it for weeks afterwards— months, even. Even now, sometimes, I still feel sick looking at it, thinking how many better men died in my place—” Thomas broke off abruptly, jaw clenched, as if he hadn’t intended to say so much. The silence in the room was suddenly deafening.

Jimmy could feel hurt digging itself deep into his chest as he stared back at Thomas. He’d never heard Thomas talk about the war properly before— let alone about his feelings. Thomas looked horribly vulnerable, sitting there with Jimmy’s hand held loosely in his, grey eyes completely exposed in the dull lighting of the room. Jimmy wanted to say something— anything— but he didn’t know how to put it to words.

“I’d have been so scared,” Jimmy said quietly after a moment, grasping Thomas’ hand tightly in his for a split second and feeling the softness of Thomas’ skin and the harshness of his leather glove crushed together.

Thomas’ hand stayed motionless in his grasp, and his grey eyes were anguished.

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed,” Jimmy pressed urgently, holding Thomas’ gaze.

Thomas looked away, the muscle in his jaw clenched. He disentangled his fingers from Jimmy’s. “Well, I do.”

“I wish I was brave like you,” Jimmy blurted out, fiddling with the lid of the wine.

“I’m not _brave_ ,” Thomas replied bitterly. His eyes met Jimmy’s briefly, blazing in the pallor of his face.

“Yes you are,” Jimmy insisted, because it was true. He looked up at Thomas. “I would have been too scared to do half the things you have.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” Thomas reflected cynically, making Jimmy frown.

“No, it’s not,” Jimmy shook his head insistently.

“What are you most afraid of, then? That can be my question for today,” Thomas said suddenly, the tone of his voice lighter— but his eyes were still unflinchingly grey.  

Jimmy frowned, considering. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, taking another swig of strawberry wine as he paused to contemplate, thoughts swirling. “When I was little, I used to be afraid of the dark. But now… I’m not so sure. I don’t like not knowing things.”

“You were afraid of the dark and now you’re scared of not knowing things,” Thomas commented slowly, smiling slightly.

“Why are you smiling?” Jimmy demanded— but Thomas merely shook his head and took another long gulp of the strawberry wine and setting it back down on the floor between them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The wine had stained his lips, and the combination of them with his pale skin and inky black hair made him look strikingly handsome in the soft lighting of the room. Once again, Jimmy thought how ironic it was that all the girls who must have found Thomas handsome never stood a chance.

“I don’t think I’ve felt real fear since I was younger,” Jimmy continued after a moment, still frowning slightly as he cast his mind over his jumbled thoughts. “I suppose… I’ve never really had anything to fear because I’ve never had anything real to lose.”

Jimmy blinked, feeling shocked at the words he’d just uttered; he had never realised that they were true until he’d spoken them.

“What makes you think you think you don’t have anything to lose?” Thomas asked, grey eyes regarding Jimmy intently. “Sometimes you don’t realise you have anything to lose— until you lose it.”

Jimmy fell silent, frowning as more and more questions swirled through his thoughts like mist, clouding what he thought he knew with something that was impossible to define and capture. He tried to consider it, but the wine made his thoughts flow too fluidly and his cheeks felt warm.

“My turn,” he decided abruptly, setting down the wine and looking up.

Thomas raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“To ask you a question,” Jimmy clarified.

“Go on, then,” Thomas said evenly, sliding his lighter from his pocket.  

Jimmy paused for a moment, watching Thomas light another cigarette with his elegant fingers. Even although his thoughts felt tangled and he felt unnerved at how Thomas seemed to know him better than Jimmy knew himself, he felt inexplicably content in Thomas’ warm, dimly-lit room, drinking the remainder of the strawberry wine and just being in Thomas’ presence. There was something unaccountably pleasing about just being there. Thomas was simply sitting in front of him on the floor, arm resting across one knee, cigarette held loosely between two fingers, smoke curling into the dimly lit room that smelt of strawberry wine and Thomas’ cologne.

Jimmy loved how Thomas seemed to relax around him— even with all his questions. He simply didn’t seem to mind sharing himself with Jimmy. Whatever it was, Jimmy couldn’t have been more grateful.

“I’m not sure what I want to ask yet,” Jimmy admitted after a moment, trying to think clearly through the effects of the wine on his thoughts.

“Well, I’m in no hurry,” Thomas said quietly, taking a drag of his cigarette. Jimmy watched the way his cheeks hollowed out as he inhaled the smoke into his lungs. He cast his mind around for a question; once more, although they’d been buzzing around his thoughts all day, now it actually came down to it, he couldn’t narrow it down to one.

He wanted to know so much about Thomas; why he’d started smoking, what scared him the most, why he’d given up playing the piano, what he saw in Jimmy, what he thought of the world. Jimmy wanted to understand as much of the other man as he possibly could. He didn’t know quite why it was so important for him to do so— all he knew was that it mattered more than anything he could remember. Taking another gulp of wine, he cast his mind back over the past few days, letting images of Thomas sitting with him in the swings at the fair and playing duets with him and bandaging his hand fill his mind.

“I think I’ve got one,” Jimmy said suddenly, heart thudding in his chest as he looked up at Thomas.

Thomas exhaled smoke, and Jimmy waited for it to disperse into the atmosphere even though he could see the grey of Thomas’ gaze clearly though it the whole time.

“Can you show me your hand?” Jimmy asked quietly, eyes not leaving Thomas’. He watched them flicker in surprise, sun poking out from behind the clouds. The room suddenly seemed very quiet and close.

“I can,” Thomas replied after a moment, gaze intent. “Are you sure you want to see it?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said decisively, because it was part of Thomas.

“It’s not pretty,” Thomas warned.

 "Good," Jimmy replied, taking a sip of the wine. His heart thudded in his chest as Thomas slowly began to unbutton his glove; Jimmy could see his long fingers trembling slightly. “Does… does it hurt?”

Thomas shook his head. “Not anymore. It did at first, of course. But I deserved that.” He eased the glove off and held his hand out between him and Jimmy, eyes holding onto Jimmy’s with surprising strength.

Jimmy felt his heart slide sickeningly down to somewhere at the bottom of his stomach. The perfect, pale skin of Thomas’ hand was warped and contorted with ugly red scar tissue. It was anguished and swollen in a ruptured circle like the petals of a distorted flower, awful and inescapable. Jimmy couldn’t help wondering how it would feel; if it was hard and spiteful to the touch in comparison to the softness of Thomas’ fingers.

“Can… can I...?” Jimmy whispered, glancing up to meet Thomas’ gaze, which was painfully vivid in the dim lighting of the room. Mutely, he nodded, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

Hesitantly, Jimmy reached out, cupping the underside of Thomas’ hand in his and then tentatively tracing his fingers around the wound. Much to his surprise, it wasn’t rough to the texture; the scar tissue was even softer than the rest of Thomas’ hand, so soft that Jimmy could barely feel it beneath his fingertips— it was only its bumps and contortions that made him certain it was there. Hurt lodged itself somewhere between Jimmy’s throat and chest, so acute it could almost have been his own injury, and he gripped Thomas’ hand tighter, feeling the flutter of his pulse under the fragile skin of his wrist that was usually covered by the glove. Tentatively, carefully, he stroked the skin where he could feel the pulse stuttering underneath, letting his fingertips trail around Thomas’ wrist.

“Jimmy…” Thomas’ voice was thick and quiet, and Jimmy looked up in alarm. Thomas’ expression was pained; his pupils blown, his jaw clenched and rigid.

“Does it hurt?” Jimmy blurted in alarm, freezing in his motions.

“No… not exactly,” Thomas replied quietly, looking away.

“It’s so soft,” Jimmy murmured, tracing the ugly lines and scars, feeling the heat of the blood beneath the skin’s surface where Thomas’ pulse fluttered. “I didn’t think it would be.” He stroked around the centre of the wound, where the skin was softest, most fragile. The room around them was suddenly so silent; Jimmy could hear Thomas breathing shallowly and the rain melting down the windowpane.

“Don’t… don’t you think it’s disgusting?” Thomas’ voice was uneven and hoarse.

No,” Jimmy said simply, barely aware of the words he was speaking, too caught up with the silken, scarred skin under his fingertips and the warmth of Thomas’s hand in his. There was something oddly captivating about it; Jimmy couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. Here was where it had happened. The shot, the pain, the guilt. He stroked his index finger across the centre of the scar, hearing Thomas hold his breath. Jimmy curled his fingers more firmly round Thomas’ wrist, feeling the pulse, all the skin that was usually covered by the leather of the glove.

He gently rubbed his thumb over Thomas’ wrist, stroking the jumping pulse and trailing up to the outskirts of the wound, tracing the raised, soft scars. Jimmy could almost taste Thomas’ cologne, the smoke between them. He softly mapped out the skin of Thomas’ hand; where the raised lines of the scars overlapped into unmarked skin, where the scars overlapped each other. He tentatively stroked each one, feeling how it was subtly different to the last under the rougher skin of his own fingertips.

Jimmy fleetingly wondered if anyone else had ever done the same; if Thomas had allowed anyone else to touch him where he was most vulnerable, most real. Thomas had never seemed more real to Jimmy than he did in that moment, when Jimmy could feel the heat of the blood underneath the other man’s skin and feel the softness of his scars and the unevenness of his pulse beneath his own fingertips.

“…Jimmy, please.” Thomas’ voice was completely uneven and unguarded, making Jimmy look up in alarm. Thomas’ grey eyes were full of anguish, their pupils heavy and blown. Jimmy could see how flushed his normally pale cheekbones were, and there was a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. He rarely saw Thomas’ feelings for him so clearly, so simply, and it made him drop Thomas’ hand in surprise, looking away as though he’d been burnt.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas’ voice was almost inaudible.

Jimmy shook his head, unsure of what to say. He suddenly felt awful. His hands felt cold and uncomfortable in his lap.

“Maybe you should go now. It’s getting late,” Thomas said, clearly attempting to sound uncaring— but Jimmy could hear the slight unevenness in his voice.

He looked up. “Mr. Barrow—”

“I have to get up early to catch the train to London, anyway,” Thomas cut in quietly, and Jimmy nodded, not knowing what else to say.

Slowly, he got to his feet, running a hand through his blonde hair which was falling out of place. For a second, he raised his gaze to Thomas’, but once more, it was broken into unpredictable, sharp fragments, and it cut into Jimmy, forcing him to drop his gaze.

“Goodnight then, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said stiffly, hesitating for a second by the door.

“Goodnight,” Thomas replied impassively, not looking up at Jimmy. Instead, he concentrated on lighting another cigarette, fingers shaking slightly as he fumbled with the lighter.

Jimmy left with a horrible, heavy feeling in his chest and the uneasy feeling that although he’d asked more questions since he’d entered the room, he’d left it with no more answers. His thoughts felt tangled and half-torn, like clouds clashing with the sun and contorting them into contrasts of light so brilliant he couldn’t see and darkness that was completely impenetrable.

And he could still feel his fingertips tingling from where they’d traced the scars on Thomas’ hand moments before, as though they had somehow scarred him too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to everyone for being patient about this update... Life's pretty crazy at the moment. Once again, to each and every one of you that comments, you make my day, thank you so, so much. I can't tell you how amazing it is to have your support c': Finally, I'd like to give a big shout-out to TrustTheProcess for always taking the time to leave utterly amazing reviews I look forward to each week, and to the very talented Maes for some crazy-good fanart which you can check out here: http://jimmykent.co.vu/post/101763938494/the-more-he-discovered-the-more-fascinated-he (Thank you so much lovely, it's brilliant!) 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and as ever, feedback makes my whole week<3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was hard to find the answers you were looking for when you didn’t even know what the question was.

 

Jimmy barely slept. The rain which had dribbled listlessly down the window while he had been sitting with Thomas became torrential, battering against the windowpane like bullets. He tossed and turned restlessly to the sound of them all night, unable to find a comfortable position where he couldn’t feel the heavy weight of guilty confusion in his stomach. His thoughts were like bullets too; conflicted, lost, too fast for him to catch.

No matter how hard he tried, his mind refused to succumb to sleep. Instead, Jimmy was left with a head full of smoke and Thomas and the feeling of the soft, raised scars under his clumsy fingertips. He felts as though everything had somehow been thrown off course and was suddenly all jumbled up, not at all as he’d planned— although he had no idea what he’d planned in the first place. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t understand it at all. In fact, the more he thought about it, the less sense it all seemed to make; it was as though the fragments he’d been piecing together in his mind to create a stained glass window were being worn away to heavy grains of sand, making Jimmy’s head ache dully against the pillow. 

Eventually, when the rain grew fiercer still and the hands on Jimmy’s alarm clock read just after four thirty, Jimmy threw back the covers in defeat and stumbled out of bed. The cold air hit him in a rush, and he pulled on his robe clumsily before exiting his room as quietly as possible. He managed to feel his way along the pitch-black corridor and down the stairs, and after a couple of moments fumbling in the darkness of the servants’ hall, lit the lamp on the table.

Dull yellow light ebbed out into the room as Jimmy slumped down into the nearest seat with a heavy sigh, pushing a hand through his rumpled blonde hair and groaning quietly. He didn’t know why he couldn’t sleep, why it was all _bothering_ him so much.

It wasn’t just curiosity and questions that filled his thoughts any more; it was guilt and frustration and insecurity that all weighed so heavily in his chest and churned so agitatedly in his stomach that he couldn’t sleep at all. His thoughts were too muddled, too jumbled up. It felt as though there was an impenetrable mist between himself and his thoughts, and he couldn’t see them at all, couldn’t understand what was happening.

Jimmy couldn’t remember ever having felt so uncertain in his life. It simply wasn’t in his nature; Jimmy had always been arrogant and sure of himself, and never gave a second thought to anyone else. But perhaps that was the difference; Jimmy thought about Thomas more than he’d ever thought about anyone before.

He didn’t even know _why_. One moment, Thomas had just been another servant, and the next, he had somehow got closer to Jimmy than anyone else had. It suddenly struck Jimmy as ironic that in a sense, Thomas had got what he wanted. He was the person closest to Jimmy. The only person Jimmy really thought about. The only person Jimmy _cared_ about. And Jimmy hadn’t even noticed it happening. It was distinctly disconcerting to have been in one place and then suddenly in a completely different one without any recollection of the transition; as if the world had suddenly skipped from summer straight to winter, and all the flowers and blossom were coated in frost and the sun was melting the snow as it fell.

Jimmy shivered. The servants’ hall was even colder than his room had been, but he found he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was painfully awake and exhausted at the same time, and didn’t know what to do with himself; didn’t know how to make the thoughts and questions stop churning through his mind.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Jimmy rested his head on his arms and fell into a brooding stupor at the table, staring at the silent piano in the corner of the room. Blurry images flashed through his mind of him and Thomas sat side by side on the piano stool only a few nights ago, laughing and playing all the wrong notes. He could almost feel the smooth coolness of the piano keys beneath his fingers and the warmth of Thomas’ leg pressed against his on the piano stool, the way Thomas’ gaze lingered on him as he played.

Blearily, Jimmy wondered if Thomas had stopped playing when he injured his hand. He still felt determined to get Thomas to play again, to find out what exactly made him stop. Was it when he’d injured his hand in the war? Was it when he came to Downton and started smoking? Was it after his father sent him away? Jimmy knew that they were just temporary, individual answers— but at least they were answers, and he was desperate to find some answers, even if they weren’t quite the ones he was looking for.

It was hard to find the answers you were looking for when you didn’t even know what the question was. _A highly dangerous occupation_ , Thomas had told him when Jimmy had said he was thinking. Jimmy suddenly couldn’t help feeling how painfully right Thomas had been.

 

~

 

 

 

Jimmy was still slumped at the table, staring moodily at the sheets of music scattered before him when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He looked up blearily, eyes aching, hand half-tangled in his tousled blonde hair to see Thomas standing in the door way.

He was fully dressed and as immaculate as ever, his grey eyes sharpened with carefully-concealed surprise. He seemed very definite; a clear, concise full stop to the blurry haze of Jimmy’s thoughts; an answer— only Jimmy didn’t know to what question.

His heart was suddenly thumping uncomfortably in his chest as Thomas’ whole stance seemed to stiffen slightly, and Jimmy could see the clouds slide across his eyes. The tension in the air was almost palpable; Jimmy could feel it making his skin prickle uncomfortably and his heart beat faster. It suddenly seemed like only moments ago that he had Thomas’ hand in his and Thomas’ cheeks were flushed and Jimmy could feel the warmth of his pulse fluttering under the fragile skin of his wrist. The heat of it made Jimmy’s cheeks burn now, although he wasn’t sure why.

“You’re awake terribly early,” Thomas commented evenly after several moments, in what was neither a question nor a statement. His voice seemed out of place in the intensity of the silence that hung heavily between them, not even broken by the raindrops being shattered against the darkened windowpane.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jimmy mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He felt caught off-guard, uneasy, uncertain of what to say. He knew he’d crossed a line again, but wasn’t sure how bad the damage was even now that Thomas was standing right in front of him, painfully real. It suddenly seemed even more uncertain with him there, clouding Jimmy’s thoughts like smoke into oxygen. “What— what are you doing up?”

“I’m catching the first train into London,” Thomas reminded him coolly, sitting himself down in the seat furthest from Jimmy and setting a plate of toast and a cup of tea down on the tabletop. Without a further word, he opened his newspaper with the same surprisingly elegant fingers that lit cigarettes for Jimmy every day, and began to read. Jimmy could almost hear the tension in the air buzzing between them; it was so tangible that it felt as though the oxygen was drowning in it, and it made his head hurt and his stomach twist uncomfortably.

With every growing moment of silence, Jimmy felt increasingly agitated and uncomfortable. He was desperate to say something— anything— but he recognised how closely he was treading to the fragile line of their friendship, and didn’t want to do anything to shatter it. He’d already thoughtlessly stepped too close to the line once again last night. Instead, he settled for watching Thomas with a mixture of intent curiosity and frustration as the other man drank his tea and picked at the piece of toast on his plate, eyes resolutely fixed on the newspaper in front of him. Jimmy knew that he wasn’t reading it, though; Thomas’ eyes didn’t move, but stayed fixed on the same spot on the page. The thought that Thomas was just as affected by the uncomfortable atmosphere was vaguely gratifying.

Eventually, when Thomas had almost finished his tea and the quiet was ringing in Jimmy’s ears, he could bear the silence no longer.

“You— you better think up some good questions while you’re gone, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas’ head snapped up instantly at the words as though he’d been waiting for them, expression completely unreadable. Jimmy felt distinctly uncomfortable under Thomas’ scrutinizing gaze for a moment, before the rigid line of the other man’s jaw softened subtly and his grey eyes flickered slightly. 

“Same goes for you,” he replied evenly after a moment. He took another sip of tea, fingers perfectly steady around the handle of the cup, and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly at Jimmy across the table.

Jimmy couldn’t help grinning tiredly in return. “Try and stop me.”

Thomas’ mouth quirked slightly, but he didn’t quite smile. Instead, he merely looked at Jimmy for a few moments before dropping his gaze back to the newspaper in front of him. This time his eyes flickered across the page, reading, and Jimmy felt relief wash over him; Thomas had relaxed, even if it was only the slightest bit.

They sat in silence again for a while, but the silence was much more comfortable this time. The rain continued to batter against the windowpane in icy gusts, and Jimmy fiddled with the scattered sheets of music in front of him, the notes blurring together on the paper to his aching eyes as he played out the melodies thoughtfully in his head.

 “What have you got all the music out for?” Thomas asked suddenly several minutes later, making Jimmy look up in surprise at the sound of his voice.

Thomas kept his face impassively questioning as he drained the last of his tea, grey eyes lingering on Jimmy and the sheet music covering the table.

“I’m trying to decide which would be best to play as a duet when you get back,” Jimmy admitted, pushing a hand through his tousled blonde hair again as he looked up at Thomas.

“You say that as if I have no say in the matter,” Thomas remarked, eyebrows raised slightly. He set his teacup down on its saucer with a soft clink.

“Well, I’m sorry to say it, Mr. Barrow, but you don’t,” Jimmy countered seriously.

Thomas shook his head slightly, but Jimmy could see the smallest of smiles pulling at his lips which were red and still subtly moist from the tea. He folded up his newspaper abruptly and got to his feet, chair scraping across the floor.

“I’d better be going,” he said curtly, buttoning up his jacket. “I’ll see you in a few days, then, Jimmy.” He paused for a second, eyes lingering on Jimmy for the smallest of moments before he dropped his gaze, jaw clenched softly.

“Goodbye,” Jimmy agreed, a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach as Thomas turned and made his way over to the doorway. “Remember to think of your questions. It’ll— it’ll be really boring without you, Mr. Barrow,” he added on impulse, and Thomas paused in the doorway. He turned around, eyes catching Jimmy’s. He smiled fleetingly, unguardedly, for a split second— and then he was turning back around and exiting the room, and Jimmy knew that, for now at least, he was forgiven.

Although perhaps, Jimmy reflected, in Thomas’ mind it wasn’t Jimmy who needed to be forgiven— it was Thomas himself. And Jimmy knew from experience that Thomas wasn’t likely to forgive himself easily. Jimmy felt awful that Thomas was probably blaming himself for something wasn’t even his fault in the first place, but Jimmy’s.

With a small sigh, Jimmy turned back to the sheets of music in front of him, suddenly feeling exhausted. Outside, the rain was softening again, glossing the windowpanes in the cold November dawn.

 

 

~

 

 

Despite the relief of having parted with Thomas on relatively good terms under the circumstances, Jimmy’s mood went rapidly downhill as the morning progressed. The day was bleak and bitter, and did nothing to improve his spirits. Even although the house was full of the usual bustle, it somehow felt uncomfortably empty without Thomas to run into in the hallways or catch his eye across the table in the servants’ hall, and by luncheon, Jimmy was in a foul mood.

He had been told off twice by Mrs. Hughes for not paying attention to his duties, managed to offend at least half of the staff, and had even reduced one of the upstairs maids to tears. Avoiding everyone’s glares at the table in servants’ hall, he gulped down his bowl of soup as quickly as he could even though his stomach felt too knotted up to be hungry, and slipped out of the steamy airlessness of the kitchen and into the yard.

The silence of it should have been a relief, but it only made him feel more out of sorts. Mist swathed the yard in tendrils of ugly fog that seemed to hold every single leaf and branch in place as though it was frozen, completely motionless. It was too quiet; the sound of him scoring the match to light his cigarette with numb fingers was far too loud, and only reminded Jimmy of his solitude. It felt almost wrong to be on a cigarette break without Thomas; Jimmy wasn’t sure he’d ever actually had one without him, since he’d only really taken up smoking as an excuse to spend time with the other man when their friendship had been shaky and new. Now Jimmy didn’t need an excuse at all, but he still smoked with Thomas, and the smoke only caught in his lungs occasionally.

 _I don’t want to be the reason you’re isolated from everyone else,_ Thomas had said to him yesterday in the very same spot where Jimmy was standing now against the wall, smoke curling from his mouth. Jimmy hadn’t realised it until now, but he _was_ isolated from everyone else— but not because of Thomas— because he simply didn’t want to socialise with everyone else; it just seemed so pointless. Talking to Thomas had never seemed pointless, even when they hadn’t been friends.

With a heavy sigh, Jimmy leant back against the wall, watching the smoke spiral out from his lungs up into the dense mist that hung almost tangibly in the bitter air of the yard. He couldn’t remember having felt so churned up, so miserable, without really having any idea _why_.

A pang of frustration shot through his chest; Jimmy knew that the answers were there, right under his fingertips— and yet he couldn’t see them for his life. It was like Thomas’ leather covering the contorted, surprisingly soft skin of his palm; Jimmy would only be able to see it if he asked the right questions.

However, before Jimmy could brood on the matter any further, the yard door swung open and Ivy approached, smiling prettily at him through the icy mist.

 “I thought you might like some company,” she said eagerly, crossing the yard to stand beside him. Jimmy winced at the soft, flowery scent of her perfume that clashed with the grey smoke and the mist. “You seem awfully out of sorts today, Jimmy.”

“I’m fine,” Jimmy said tightly, tapping ash to the concrete at his feet.

“You can tell me, you know,” Ivy pressed, her brown eyes full of sympathy. “After all, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Jimmy made a non-committal noise that she could interpret in either direction.

“Well, why don’t you come down to the village with me after supper? It’s my night off,” Ivy offered, nudging up closer to Jimmy in the sheltered space and making Jimmy’s jaw tighten. It felt wrong, having her standing in the spot where _Thomas_ should be standing beside him, smoke and sarcasm curling from his mouth in equal measure.

“I might just get an early night, I’m bloody wrecked,” Jimmy replied honestly, taking another drag of the cigarette. It felt strange having one all to himself rather than passing one backwards and forwards, sharing.

“Oh, please, Jimmy. It’ll make you feel better. We can go for a drink or something— I haven’t been to the pub for ages. I’m sure I can cheer you up…” Ivy trailed off suggestively, her cheeks reddening slightly. Jimmy looked away, dropping his gaze to the ground.

 _Are you really saying you’d rather spend your time with me than with a pretty girl?_ Thomas’ words suddenly echoed in his head, making Jimmy’s thoughts churn uncomfortably. Jimmy didn’t even have to choose now, because Thomas wasn’t here anyway. And of course Jimmy would rather spend time with a pretty girl than his friend. It’s what every young man would prefer. Perhaps he’d just never given Ivy the chance. Maybe spending time with Ivy would provide him with at least a few answers to distract him from the horrible, restless feeling inside of him.

“Alright, then,” he agreed reluctantly, exhaling the last of the smoke from his lungs.

“Really?” Ivy exclaimed, eyes wide.

Jimmy nodded curtly, stubbing his cigarette out.

“I’ll meet you in the servants’ hall after supper, then!” Ivy called after him as he made his way back towards the door to the kitchen, head still aching with exhaustion and unanswered questions.

 

 

~

 

 

Spending time with Ivy couldn’t have been more different than spending time with Thomas. Everything about her was different— her eyes were chocolate brown and naïve instead of icy and discerning, she chattered away all the time with nothing to say instead of succinctly in cryptic sarcasm, and above all, she was painfully easy to read.

Jimmy knew that Ivy fancied him, but even if hadn’t, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to deduce; she hung on his every word and blushed when he looked at her, constantly complimented him, touched his arm too many times, and made far too many suggestions about meeting up again. She really couldn’t have been _more_ different to Thomas— Jimmy knew that Thomas was in love with him, but if hadn’t, he was sure it would be virtually impossible to guess.

Thomas challenged most of the things Jimmy said, treated him with nothing more than warm indifference, and never touched Jimmy’s arm when he was talking to him. He concealed his feelings masterfully, to the degree that it was often easy for Jimmy to forget that they existed. The only times that Jimmy might have been able to guess were the times when he ignored Thomas’ subtle warnings and got too close— like the time Jimmy had got him to bandage his hand for him or when they’d played duets, or last night, which still brought an uncomfortable, ashamed heat to Jimmy’s cheeks for being so thoughtless. It was only at these moments that the cold grey armour of Thomas’ gaze was broken down to heavy pupils and intensity; only at these moments that Jimmy could really see the depth of Thomas’ feelings for him.

As Ivy giggled coyly and laid her hand on his across the pub table, it struck Jimmy once again how perplexing it was that the insincere charm and good looks which girls fell for so easily didn’t appear to affect Thomas at all. He couldn’t understand it at all; if Thomas could see so easily through the charm that could be turned on and off with the flick of a switch, why on earth did he feel the way he did towards Jimmy?

People had only ever paid Jimmy attention before because he was handsome or charming— but nothing more. Jimmy wasn’t sure that he _was_ anything more than those things. He’d never really wanted to be. But perhaps he did now. If it hadn’t been for the occasional glimmers of how Thomas really felt towards him when Jimmy got too close, he wouldn’t have believed it. He felt as though he should somehow be more worthy of Thomas’ feelings; right now, he couldn’t understand how Thomas was in love with him at all.

“… And then Mrs. Patmore said that _Daisy_ should be doing it, just because she’s been here longer. It’s ridiculous, I know you wouldn’t stand for things like that, would you, Jimmy? You must feel so proud, being first footman. Of course, it is a shame for Alfred, but you really deserve it, you work so hard,” Ivy gushed, taking another sip of her glass of ale and smiling warmly at Jimmy across the table of the pub.

Jimmy, already on his third glass, manufactured a smile.

“I think you should be promoted,” Ivy continued, still smiling hopelessly at him. “I don’t see why Mr. Barrow suddenly got to be under butler.”

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Carson must have thought he deserved it,” he commented as indifferently as he could manage, taking another gulp of ale.

“Well, you deserve it more,” Ivy smiled gushingly. “You’re a much nicer person than Mr. Barrow will ever be, _and_ you’re a much harder worker.”

“That’s not true,” Jimmy burst out, and Ivy blinked, looking at him in surprise. “I mean,” Jimmy backtracked, trying to gather himself. “I mean— I don’t work that hard.”

“Oh, but you do!” Ivy insisted warmly. “Why else would you be first footman?”

Jimmy shrugged indifferently, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “What about you?” he asked, wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Do you want to be head cook one day?”

“Oh, no,” Ivy shook her head, giggling. “I don’t think I want to stay in service. I don’t want to end up like Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Barrow.”

“What do you mean?” Jimmy frowned, taking a long gulp of ale and setting his glass back down on the table.

“Well, they’re awfully serious. I think all the years of hard work must make you bitter,” Ivy said flippantly.

“Mr. Barrow is much nicer than everyone seems to think,” Jimmy retorted, setting his nearly empty glass back down on the table. He felt a little light-headed.

“Well, you’re far nicer than he’ll ever be. I don’t know why you’re always jumping to his defence,” Ivy blinked.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Jimmy snapped, pouring himself another glass.

“Jimmy?” Ivy appealed. She looked prettily hurt and bewildered.

“I’m not a nice person at all, Ivy,” Jimmy blurted, taking a long gulp of ale and clumsily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as though doing so would somehow erase the words that had spilled clumsily from it.

“Oh, but you _are_ , Jimmy—” Ivy protested, looking scandalized.

“No, I’m not. And I don’t know why you think I am,” Jimmy said roughly, setting his glass back down on the table unsteadily. “Is it just because I’m _handsome_?” he spat out the word as though it was stuck in his throat.

“No, of course not,” Ivy insisted, brown eyes wide.

“Then what is it?” Jimmy demanded. “Is it because I’m so _kind_ or so _thoughtful_? Because if you say it is, then that’s not true, because I’ve never been either of those things and I never will be. I have absolutely no idea why anyone would like me if it’s not for my _lovely looks_ or my _charm_ ,” he spat, feeling sick.

“Jimmy, what ever is the matter?” Ivy exclaimed, her eyes round with worry.

Jimmy shook his head slightly, suddenly feeling unsteady. He wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly started blurting it all out, why he was feeling so wound-up. The alcohol sloshing in his stomach suddenly seemed to be much more powerful than it had done a few moments ago.

“I just… I don’t understand. I don’t understand why…” Jimmy broke off, unfocusedly taking another gulp of ale. He suddenly felt vaguely guilty for having shouted at Ivy. “I’m sorry,” he added curtly, although he didn’t really mean it.

“It’s alright,” Ivy said at once, her brown eyes full of concern and confusion. “What is it you don’t understand, Jimmy?”

“Never mind,” Jimmy said, the two words slurring together slightly. He suddenly felt reckless, determined to do anything to try and find some answers. He didn’t even care what they were any more, he just couldn’t stand the complete miasma of uncertainty that shrouded his mind any longer. “Can we go now?”

“Of course,” Ivy nodded, immediately getting up and tucking her arm through Jimmy’s as they left the smoky warmth of the pub and went out into the contrast of the sharp, cold November night. Jimmy disliked the feeling of her arm linked softly through his, but he was unsteady enough on his feet not to protest.

“You know,” Ivy began as they started slowly up the lane to Downton, “you can always talk to me if there’s something troubling you, Jimmy. I’d be happy to help in whatever way I can.”

“’M fine,” Jimmy mumbled, stumbling slightly as the path narrowed.

“Are you really?” Ivy pressed, gently squeezing his arm.

Jimmy nodded wordlessly, focusing on walking as steadily as he could along the frosty path. Everything felt as though it was in the wrong place; as though all the pieces of a jigsaw had been forced together in the wrong places. He felt tired and dizzy and slightly sick, and didn’t have the energy to try and shake Ivy off.

They walked in silence most of the way back to Downton under the starless sky. It was a bitterly cold night, and the frosty air stung Jimmy’s cheeks as he stumbled along beside Ivy, wishing his thoughts would straighten themselves out and stop making his head throb.

“I should prefer spending time with you, shouldn’t I?” Jimmy blurted out suddenly, when Downton was looming on the horizon and he felt marginally more sober.

“What do you mean?” Ivy frowned, coming to a halt.

“I should like spending time with pretty girls like you.”

“Don’t you?” Ivy blinked.

“Yes— yes of course.”

“You don’t do it very often. Perhaps if you did, you’d like it more,” Ivy suggested hopefully. “How can you know you like something unless you try it? Quite often you don’t realise how wonderful something it is until you try it, Jimmy.”

Jimmy staggered to a halt, Ivy’s arm still wrapped round his.

“Yes— yes, you’re right,” he slurred, heart suddenly thumping.

“…Jimmy?” Ivy’s eyes were wide in the darkness.

He felt unsteady and reckless, determined to try and fill the answerless void in his mind with whatever he could. On impulse, he pulled Ivy closer and pushed his mouth clumsily against hers, stumbling slightly.

It felt wrong. Jimmy didn’t know why; his head was too clouded with alcohol and desperate thoughts and too many questions; but he knew instantly that it wasn’t right. Her mouth was too full, too sweet and wet, and her soft, flowery scent was overwhelming. The sloppy feel of her tongue against his made his stomach churn and were her hands held onto the small of his back the skin prickled uncomfortably.

He pulled away, heart thudding, thoughts in turmoil.

“Jimmy?” Ivy’s voice was slightly breathless in the night air that was suddenly so cold it stung Jimmy’s skin and made his lungs hurt.

Jimmy staggered backwards, his mind spinning. He could still taste her in his mouth, could feel the places on his back where she’d hung onto him, and it made his stomach lurch sickeningly. It was all suddenly too much; the endless questions drumming at his skull and making his head throb with uncertainty, the wet smudge her lips had left on his own, the exhaustion of being awake all night, the surprising loneliness, the way that her hands still tried to hold onto him, too innocent and unmarked.

He felt panicked, scared, utterly lost. Some half-drunken part of him had hoped that kissing Ivy would have made things clearer, but they were suddenly more jumbled than ever, so much that it choked him. Jimmy stumbled away, mind spinning nauseatingly, until he was leaning weakly against one of the trees and being sick, Ivy’s anxious protests buzzing in his ears.

 

 

~

 

 

The following morning was, if possible, even worse than the previous one. Even before the end of breakfast, Jimmy was fervently wishing that the day was over. His head was thumping dully, his stomach was churning sickeningly, and he was wondering how on earth he was going to survive the next few days before Thomas returned. He had got up early to avoid Ivy, and slipped out into the yard to avoid the breakfast table, still feeling nauseated.

As he lit a cigarette with slightly shaky hands, he vaguely wondered what Thomas doing in London. He wondered if Thomas was sitting down to breakfast at the table in a foreign servants’ hall, as immaculate and carefully emotionless as ever, inky hair smoothed back to show off the sharpness of his features. Was Thomas thinking up questions to ask him as he drunk his tea, or was he just reading the newspaper as usually did in the mornings?

Before, thinking about questions to ask Thomas had been something which had excited Jimmy and brightened his mood, even if it made him impatient at the same time, but it no longer seemed to have the same effect. Instead, if made him feel agitated and uncomfortable, and impossibly impatient for Thomas’ return.

It was strange— before becoming friends with Thomas, Jimmy had been perfectly content in his own company, but now it was somehow never quite enough.

Jimmy was just finishing his cigarette when the yard door swung open and Mrs. Hughes marched out into the frosty yard. Jimmy winced slightly, bracing himself for another telling off, but Mrs. Hughes merely stopped in front of him, looking more flustered than angry.

“James, might I have a brief word?” she asked briskly as Jimmy stood up straight and dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his shoe.

“Certainly, Mrs. Hughes,” he replied as politely as he could manage, trying to look as though he didn’t have a splitting headache and uneasy stomach.

“I’m afraid I rather need to ask a favour of you, James,” Mrs. Hughes said, sighing. “I know its short notice, but the party in London have decided that they need another valet for the ball tomorrow— I know you’re not fully trained as one, but Mr. Bates is ill with a cold and Mr. Carson can’t possibly go, so I’m afraid you’ll have to do it.”

Jimmy’s heart was suddenly beating very fast. “London?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly sure you heard me correctly the first time. Now, there’s a train leaving at twelve thirty. The chauffeur will be able to give you a lift down in an hour or so if you can manage to get packed by then?” she paused, looking questioningly at Jimmy in a manner which suggested he didn’t really have a choice— not that Jimmy would have argued anyway. 

“Of course,” Jimmy agreed, heart still thudding in his chest with relief. He was going to get to see Thomas again. He had to bite back a grin at the thought.

“Mr. Barrow will meet you at the station in London to take you to the house,” Mrs. Hughes announced. “Although I daresay, he’ll have enough on his plate. Half the staff there have gone down with colds too.”

“I’ll help as much as I can,” Jimmy said sincerely, making to go inside, but Mrs. Hughes stopped him, the sharp, efficient expression softened slightly.

“James— I know that you told me earlier nothing was the matter, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she said, her tone almost kind.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” Jimmy replied hastily. “But I meant what I said. I’m absolutely fine, just a little tired.”

“I hope you’re not coming down with a cold too. You look awfully pale,” Mrs. Hughes frowned. “Best get packing and off to London before it catches up with you.”

Jimmy nodded, tucking his cigarettes back into his pocket and making his way hurriedly inside up to his room, bad mood suddenly forgotten.

Outside in the yard, the first few flakes of tentative November snow were beginning to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, stuff's starting to happen! Silly Jimmy is silly. I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter... I can't help noticing that the comments and things have gone down on the past couple of chapters. Is it still okay? I really hope so, feeling a bit uncertain about it at the moment, so would love to know your thoughts on it. Thanks so much to all of you who comment/like/reblog this, you're all just amazing. <3
> 
> P.S. Big thanks to everyone who answered my question about this fic on tumblr, it was really helpful!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing little bits about Thomas only made Jimmy desperate to know more; it was like only being allowed to read the first page of a novel.

The journey to London was quiet and cold. Jimmy spent most of it with his aching head leant against the cool glass of the window, watching the colourless November countryside roll by, cold and bitter under snow-laden sky. The initial thrill he’d felt at the prospect of seeing Thomas sooner than expected had subsided, only to be replaced with a distinctly apprehensive unease that Jimmy couldn’t quite ignore. Although his eyes were still gritty with tiredness and his head throbbed dully from lack of sleep and too many questions, he somehow felt too wound-up to fall asleep. 

The whole way, questions churned perpetually through his mind in an uneasy mix of things he felt he already knew the answer to, and things he never could. Drunkenly kissing Ivy had completely the opposite effect to the one Jimmy had hoped for; he’d somehow imagined that doing it would temporarily stifle the incessant questions that made his skull felt as though it was going to burst— but instead, it had simply added to them and made things seem more muddled than ever.

Jimmy had rarely cared enough about things before to regret, but, inexplicably, he regretted this. He wasn’t sure why; he knew that he probably _should_ regret hurting Ivy’s feelings, but he found he couldn’t really bring himself to care. It wasn’t regret about the added uncertainty his actions had brought, or about Ivy’s feelings— and yet, he couldn’t erase the rare, heavy feeling of guilt that weighed down the space between his lungs and made it uncomfortable to swallow. Jimmy couldn’t understand it at all.

All he knew was that it suddenly seemed more important than ever to see Thomas and ask him questions. Everything else had melted away and changed without Jimmy even noticing, and it was the only certain thing remaining. Jimmy knew that it was foolish, to hope that questions for someone else would answer questions of your own— but he couldn’t help it any more. Jimmy felt that if he could just understand Thomas as he was so desperate to, just figure him out, then perhaps everything else would somehow make sense. It wasn’t just that he wanted to understand Thomas any more; he _needed_ to understand him. It suddenly felt as though everything depended on figuring him out.

Jimmy didn’t realise that he’d let out a sigh until it misted up the glass beside him, obscuring the cold, darkening sky from view. At the same time as being desperate to ask Thomas more questions, a part of Jimmy felt inexplicably uncertain about seeing Thomas again, now that he was actually on the train. Although they had parted on relatively good terms, Jimmy still couldn’t help but worry that the night before Thomas’ departure might linger uncomfortably in the air between them. After all, he himself couldn’t erase the poignant memory from his thoughts.

Every time he closed his eyes to try and succumb to sleep, he was suddenly back in Thomas’ smoky room, Thomas’ pulse stuttering hotly under his fingertips. Jimmy couldn’t stop seeing the complete and utter pained surrender in Thomas’ heavy gaze when he looked up, and every time he remembered it, it sent a fresh wave of shame through him.

He still couldn’t believe he’d been so utterly thoughtless— but Jimmy found it so easy to relax around Thomas that he frequently forgot his more conscious line of thought and simply acted naturally. With Thomas, Jimmy was able to be completely himself— and perhaps that was the problem. Because more often than not, it seemed to end up with Thomas getting hurt, although of course, he rarely let on this was the case— it was only at times like the night before he’d left for London that it was so agonisingly clear.

Generally, it was just the faintest flicker of expression that most people would miss— but Jimmy knew him, and could read the tiny prologue of Thomas he’d been given like a book. He might not know where Thomas had gone to school or what had happened to him in the war or why he was in love with Jimmy, but he prided himself on being able to read Thomas’ silent expressions; the way the corners of his mouth pulled up very slightly when he was trying not to smile properly, the way he raised his eyebrows coolly when he was amused, the way he clenched his jaw when he was uncomfortable, as though he was trying to crush the words he wanted to say.  

But it wasn’t _enough_. It was endlessly frustrating, because knowing little bits about Thomas only made Jimmy desperate to know _more_. It was like only being allowed to read the first page of a novel. He needed to understand why Thomas felt it necessary to stop himself smiling fully, or why he didn’t just laugh when he found something funny, or just how much he didn’t say that he wanted to. Jimmy fleetingly thought that knowing one little thing about Thomas was like seeing only one star in the night’s sky— scintillating, but a complete misrepresentation of what the sky truly meant.

Jimmy couldn’t help feeling that he could see no more of the stars in the sky than he could of himself. Every question he asked seemed only to create a hundred subsequent others that clouded all the possible stars completely, so that Jimmy felt as though he was stumbling through impenetrable darkness, unable to see anything at all.

 _You can’t answer questions with questions, Jimmy,_ Thomas had once said to him. But Jimmy didn’t know what else to answer them with any more.  

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

As the train drew into the station in London, excited nerves curdled suddenly in Jimmy’s stomach, erasing the prominence of the inexplicable guilt. He stood up as the train ground to a halt, pushing a hand through his slightly tousled blonde hair and picking up his suitcase from the luggage rack. Darkness had fallen completely outside, so Jimmy couldn’t see if Thomas was on the platform or not; all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him. For a moment, he just stared back at the reflection; the typically handsome combination of blonde hair and blue eyes and the slightly bored distain 

His heart was suddenly thumping, because for that split second, he felt as though he was simply staring at another stranger on the train. The fleeting thought that he knew no more about the man reflected in the black glass than anyone else in the compartment or on the platform outside sent a sudden and unexpected shiver of sadness through Jimmy. He’d never really stopped to consider who he was up until these last few weeks, and now that he had stopped, he wished he hadn’t. He wished he’d kept moving, because it was easier not to ask questions that way.

Forcing his thoughts to the back of his mind, Jimmy began to make his way off the train, head aching with tiredness and unsettling questions.

Cold, sooty air stung his lungs as he stepped off the train and onto the London platform, shivering slightly in his coat. He hastily tried to gather his scattered thoughts as he began weaving his way through the bustle of people on the platform, eyes flickering between the crowds of people, seeking out Thomas’ familiar cool disdain and angular features. The crowd was as all-consuming and swarming with people as his mind was with questions, and Jimmy felt equally and uncharacteristically lost in it.

He felt half like holding his breath and half like breathing a sigh of relief when he finally caught sight of Thomas standing near the entrance of the waiting room. It felt as though he was the most real thing Jimmy had laid eyes on in the past twenty four hours. Thomas looked exactly the same as the morning he’d left, and he was smoking steadily, smoke curling ambiguously around him as his cool grey eyes surveyed the busy platform with a mild disinterest.

“Mr. Barrow!” Jimmy called, heart suddenly thumping in his chest as he made his way through the crowd to where Thomas was standing. The other man glanced around at the sound of Jimmy’s voice, exhaling slowly as Jimmy stopped in front of him.

“I just can’t get rid of you, can I?” Thomas commented coolly— but the smallest of smiles was pulling at his mouth as he took another drag of his cigarette.

“Nope,” Jimmy replied cheerfully. It was peculiar; he suddenly felt so overwhelmingly happy and relieved to see Thomas that everything else almost didn’t seem to matter. All the worries that had consumed him fell away almost instantly, as irrelevant as the people hurrying along the platform behind him.

Thomas flicked ash to the ground and met Jimmy’s gaze, grey eyes as startlingly perceptive as ever— yet there seemed to be a distance to them. It was as though there was a careful mist clouding his own expression, although he gave the impression of perceiving Jimmy’s so clearly. Jimmy suddenly felt as though Thomas knew and understood everything that had been rushing through his head the last few days with that single look— and yet he could decipher nothing from looking at Thomas. The other man was as frustratingly inscrutable as ever.

“You look pale,” Thomas remarked, breaking through Jimmy’s thoughts. He was frowning slightly, and his eyes still lingering piercingly on Jimmy as though they could see everything. It wasn’t a question, but Jimmy still felt as though he was required to give an answer.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he lied, shifting awkwardly on his feet. Thomas surveyed him for a split-second longer, grey gaze like a spotlight that made Jimmy feel both uncomfortably exposed and privileged all at once. “Honestly, Mr. Barrow. Just a little tired from the journey.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly, but the piercing quality of his gaze softened slightly and he didn’t press the point. Instead, he stubbed out his cigarette, exhaling the last of the smoke from his lungs. “Are you ready to go?”

Jimmy nodded as Thomas crushed the cigarette beneath the sole of his shoe and led the way through the bright, cold lights of the waiting room and out into the icy darkness of the street outside. The sky was too smothered with black snow-clouds to see the stars, and the lamps lining the street gave off an uneasy, greasy yellow glow that ebbed out into the shadows, casting them long and sad in the frost.

As they walked in silence along the pavement, Jimmy suddenly found himself uncertain of what to say. All the way to London, his head had been full of things to say to Thomas, but now that Thomas was actually walking alongside him, he couldn’t find the words. Even although they were walking closely together on the narrow pavement, Jimmy suddenly felt the distance between them acutely.

“So,” Thomas said impassively when, after several moments more of walking in silence, their footsteps echoing on the icy pavements, Jimmy still hadn’t spoken. “How is Downton?”

A flurry of thoughts rushed through Jimmy’s mind. “Don’t ask,” he said darkly, shaking his head wordlessly. “Just light a cigarette and tell me about London, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly, but pulled a box of cigarettes and his lighter from his pocket with gloved hands.  

“London is the same as ever. Far too full of money and poverty. The staff at Lady Rosamund’s are boring,” Thomas said flatly around the cigarette he’d placed between his lips, flicking the lighter to ignite it. The lighter flared for a moment in the darkness, a momentary second of illumination, and then it went black and Thomas slipped it back into his pocket with gloved hand. He took a brief drag of the cigarette and then handed it to Jimmy, who felt rather disconcerted at the brush of cool leather rather than warm skin.

“Tell me more about them,” Jimmy said after a moment, savouring the exhale. He had been smoking the same brand on his own, but they somehow tasted so much better when they were Thomas’ ones, not his.

“I’d rather hear what happened at Downton,” Thomas said evenly, accepting the cigarette that Jimmy passed back to him and taking a long drag. Jimmy watched the way it made his cheeks hollow out, highlighting the sharpness of his bone structure in the dull light of the streetlamps. His eyes flickered up to meet Jimmy’s, grey and uncomfortably far away. Jimmy suddenly felt as though they were hiding. 

“Well, I’d rather forget about it,” Jimmy said honestly, shuddering slightly. “Let’s just say that I’m very glad to see you again, Mr. Barrow.”

“Why, that was almost a compliment,” Thomas quirked an eyebrow, looking amused, but something behind the surface of his eyes remained troubled.

“It was a compliment,” Jimmy replied uncomfortably, neatly taking the cigarette from between Thomas’ gloved fingers and taking a drag of it. “Smoking my own cigarettes isn’t quite the same.”

Thomas laughed, short and unexpected, the smile splitting across his face for a moment, all careful pretence lost for a split second— and it made Jimmy grin weakly in return. Thomas’ smiles were like that; so unexpected and sincere that it was impossible not to respond to them, no matter how you felt.

“Well, I suppose I’m glad to see you too,” Thomas said, still smiling slightly although his eyes were carefully reserved again. “It’s not quite the same having no one stealing my cigarettes.”

Jimmy grinned even more as he handed the cigarette back, deliberately blowing smoke in Thomas’ direction— but his heart still felt heavy in his chest. He couldn’t help feeling that something between them was slightly off; that the conversation between them was slightly stilted; that Thomas was just a little too cool and impassive for comfort. He was relating with Jimmy almost with the same careful indifference in which he related with everyone else, and it made it feel as though there was somehow a distance between them that had not been there before.

They walked in silence for a long while, the bitter air making Jimmy’s cheeks smart as he matched his pace with Thomas. It was the same heavy coldness in the air that had stung at his skin that night with Ivy at the pub. He remembered how obvious she was, how painfully easy to read. Fleetingly, Jimmy wondered if Thomas could really see and understand as much as he gave the impression of doing when he looked at him— if Jimmy was really as easy to read as it sometimes felt when Thomas’ gaze sliced through him, icy and discerning. It felt as though Thomas could see and understand what Jimmy could not in himself.

You’re very quiet,” Thomas remarked evenly, the measured quality of his voice startling Jimmy from the weight of his thoughts. He looked up to see Thomas’ questioning gaze. Again, although it was a statement in technical terms, Jimmy felt as though it was a question for which he was required to provide an answer.

“Mr. Barrow, am I easy to read?” Jimmy asked suddenly, looking round at Thomas as they turned the corner and into a lane. 

“Quite the contrary, I’m afraid,” Thomas replied dryly. He frowned, observing Jimmy’s expression intently, smoke spiralling from his mouth and from the cigarette between his gloved fingers. “Why do you look disappointed?”

Jimmy shook his head wordlessly, suddenly feeling more tired than ever. “I was hoping you’d have a better answer.” He could feel his heart sinking in his chest. He knew it was irrational, but there was a part of him that had hoped Thomas could have told him all the things that he himself did not understand yet desperately felt he needed to.

“Well, that’s the problem with questions, Jimmy. You don’t always get the answers you want,” Thomas said almost gently, the softness of his voice clashing with the sharpness of his eyes and cheekbones that stood out, stung pink from the icy night air. Jimmy looked at him for a moment, thinking how Thomas’ eyes were almost blue in the darkness, and nodded wordlessly. His heart felt heavy in his chest, as though it were made of ugly metal.

They lapsed back into a slightly stilted silence as they neared the end of the lane and turned onto a secluded street, where stark trees lined the pavements. Their icy branches were encrusted in frost, and were reaching up into the unreadable darkness of the sky, beyond the flickering light of the street lamps. Jimmy suddenly thought how lonely they looked; forever trying to touch something that was always just out of reach.

“It’s the house at the end,” Thomas said coolly, startling Jimmy from his thoughts. Thomas was nodding in the direction of a tall, expressionless house near the end of the street as they crossed the deserted road.

“What are the servants’ quarters like?” Jimmy asked, shivering in the thin material of his coat. His fingers were going numb from where they clasped the handle of his suitcase.

“Cramped,” Thomas replied, suddenly sounding strained. He suddenly looked round at Jimmy with piercing grey eyes that seemed to slice right through the latter, catching on his lungs. The colour that was high on Thomas’ cheeks from the biting wind suddenly seemed more noticeable against the typical pallor of his skin.

“Oh?” Jimmy frowned in confusion.

“Yes.” Thomas’ expression was as impassive as ever, but Jimmy could see him visibly swallow. “I’m afraid— I’m afraid that you’ll be sharing my room. I know that it’s not ideal, but there’s nothing to be done. I do hope you aren’t too offended by the thought.”

At first, Jimmy thought that Thomas was being sarcastic, but then he looked at Thomas properly where they’d come to a standstill on the frosty pavement in the under the frail shadows of one of the poplar trees, and saw that he was being painfully honest. It was only then that the artfully composed and distant façade slipped a little, and Jimmy caught a fleetingly poignant glimpse of the anguished, helpless Thomas that he’d seen the night before Thomas left for London, and it made his metal heart hurt. The idea that Thomas thought Jimmy found his presence so disagreeable and uncomfortable only made Jimmy’s heart heavier, weighing down on his lungs.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Jimmy said quietly, unsure of what to say. 

Thomas dropped his gaze, the muscles in his jaw clenched, and Jimmy suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable and unsure of what to do next. He knew it was somehow his fault; that he needed to fix it. Thomas had once told him that being in love was like being scared, and Jimmy couldn’t help wondering how it could possibly be worth feeling scared all the time for something that was always going to be just out of reach, just like the sky for the lonely branches of the poplar trees.  

“Mr Barrow— I’m sorry—” Jimmy blurted out, unable to stop himself. He knew he was probably saying the wrong thing, but he had to say _something_ , had to let Thomas know that he wasn’t to blame. “I know that I’ve already said so, but I truly am— the night before you left— I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless—” Jimmy trailed off uncertainly, heart thudding in his chest. He suddenly got the sinking feeling that once more, he’d said utterly the wrong thing and just made the whole situation worse.

The words crushed the oxygen out of the air between them, suddenly making it feel very still, as though the frost had frozen the air in place as well as the leaves and the branches on the trees.

Thomas’ expression had become rigid, all white lines and angles.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy added, his voice feeling uncomfortably blunt in the silence.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Thomas replied, sounding utterly strained.

 “No, I do, and I really am sorry—” Jimmy blurted out. “I didn’t—”

“Please. Let’s not speak of it, Jimmy,” Thomas said tightly, his eyes painfully emotionless. Thomas so rarely said ‘please’ about anything, that Jimmy immediately ceased to speak. 

Thomas’ eyes were like lakes that had frozen over, obscuring everything under the surface from view— but they still sliced through Jimmy so piercingly it hurt. Jimmy watched the way that Thomas’ hands shook slightly around his cigarette, and wondered fleetingly how much courage it must have taken for Thomas to be his friend every day. Thomas had asked Jimmy why they were friends, but Jimmy didn’t know why Thomas was friends with him. He was tactless, thoughtless and shallow, and always seemed to end up inadvertently making things twice as difficult for Thomas.

“Of course,” Jimmy said quietly, much too late. He was watching the way the muscle was still clenched in Thomas’ jaw as he exhaled sharply, gaze not quite meeting Jimmy’s. The only thing Jimmy knew to do whenever he stumbled clumsily across the fragile line of their friendship was to change the subject. It was pointless talking about it, because Thomas always clammed up completely, and the bottom line was that their friendship was founded on things they were both ashamed of.

“What— what do you say we meet after we’ve finished tonight for a cigarette?” Jimmy offered tentatively after a moment watching Thomas smoke, the muscles in his neck taught and clenched. “I know that you’ve only been away a couple of days, but it feels like forever. And you can tell me all the questions you’ve thought of.”

“You and your questions,” Thomas shook his head slightly, but the tone of his voice wasn’t as strained as it had been a moment ago.

“But you did think of some, didn’t you?” Jimmy tried for a grin.

“One or two,” Thomas replied evenly. A small smile was tugging at his mouth, but it still didn’t quite melt the careful disinterest in his gaze. “I take it I don’t even need to ask whether you did.”

Jimmy grinned weakly, but his heart still felt uncomfortable in his chest.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

By the time Jimmy had finished for the evening and had made his way out to the back yard to meet Thomas, he was absolutely exhausted. His thoughts were in tangles and knots and he couldn’t decide whether he felt happy about seeing Thomas or guilty about how clearly difficult he’d made things between them. The lack of sleep and alcohol from the night before had caught up with him almost immediately after he’d left Thomas to go and get changed when they arrived at the house, and it hadn’t improved as the evening progressed. He had barely felt aware of the new surroundings and people all night; he was too caught up inside his head to think straight. 

The frosty night air was sharp and searing as Jimmy stepped out into the yard and closed the door carefully behind him, but it failed to break through the cloud of exhaustion and jumbled thoughts.

Thomas was already leaning against the wall, smoking silently in the darkness. He was still in his valet’s uniform, but he’d loosened his white bow tie and his pomaded hair was beginning to fall across his face, jet black in contrast to the pallor of his skin that was illuminated by the dull glow of the street lamps outside the property. Jimmy suddenly couldn’t help thinking that Thomas was like an ellipsis; unfinished, unwritten, unknown.

He glanced up, grey eyes poignantly indifferent as Jimmy leant against the hard, cold wall beside him with a heavy sigh that unfurled into the bitter night air.

“You look exhausted,” Thomas remarked dryly around the cigarette in his mouth. He withdrew it, letting a plume of smoke coil up into the black air. Jimmy watched it mingle with the snow-laden cloud and evaporate into nothingness, leaving no trace of it ever having been breathed.

“I’m fine,” Jimmy lied, rubbing a hand across his gritty eyes that felt as though they were swollen with seeing things he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t remember having felt so exhausted in his life. It was inexplicably tiring to constantly be searching for something with no idea of what it actually was; to be asking questions and questions and questions and finding no answers.

Thomas didn’t say anything, but he held out his cigarette, bridging the gap between them.

Wordlessly, Jimmy took the cigarette and shivered slightly at the brush of their fingers even though Thomas’ fingers were soft and warm, just like they had been on the night before Thomas had left for London. Jimmy fleetingly found himself wanting to touch the scars on Thomas’ palm, just to remind himself that they existed— but then the contact was gone and Thomas was putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket and Jimmy’s fingers felt cold.

“Thanks,” Jimmy muttered belatedly around a cloud of smoke.

For a few moments, they stood in silence under the snow-laden sky. Jimmy could almost taste the promise of snow in the air along with the smoke that warmed his lungs and stung them at the same time.

“So, are you going to ask me a question?” Jimmy asked after a while, looking round at Thomas as he handed back the cigarette, feeling the split second of warmth before it was gone again, just like snow melting.

Thomas tilted his head to one side, inhaling deeply so that his cheekbones looked sharper than ever. “If you like,” he shrugged non-committally.

“Why else would I have asked?” Jimmy asked, shuddering slightly as a particularly icy gust of wind swept through the yard, trying to shake the snow clouds so that a few, minute flakes of snow would tumble from their upside-down depth— but the sky remained empty.

For several moments, Thomas didn’t say anything. His elegant fingers were perfectly steady as he took another drag of the cigarette and looked up.

“What’s troubling you, Jimmy?” he asked quietly, eyes catching intently on Jimmy’s so that the latter suddenly found himself unable to look away.

“Why— why do you assume that anything is troubling me?” Jimmy countered uncomfortably, but he could feel the sudden thump of his heart behind the confines of his ribs, and the guilt which had been lodged between his lungs ever since the night with Ivy was suddenly more poignant than ever.

Thomas didn’t say anything, merely continued to look at Jimmy as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled slowly. His eyes were utterly unreadable, yet gave the impression that their grey could read everything in sight.

Jimmy sighed, shaking his head slightly in resignation. He dropped his gaze, raking a hand through his blonde hair as he stared at the ground. The ash from Thomas’ cigarette fell to it in tiny little embers, lost on the vast coldness of the concrete at their feet.

“Do you ever get the feeling… I don’t know… do you ever get the feeling that you don’t really understand anything at all?” Jimmy asked after a few moments, looking up at Thomas through the smoke that curled through the air between them.

Thomas regarded him carefully for a moment, grey eyes surprisingly vivid in the darkness. “Yes,” he replied simply and unexpectedly after a moment. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, cheeks hollowing around it.

For a while, they stood in silence, passing the cigarette between them. It would have been more straightforward if Thomas had just lit another one, but Jimmy liked sharing the same one— it felt more personal, as if Thomas was somehow, subtly, sharing himself, trusting himself with Jimmy by doing so.

“But I think, sometimes…” Thomas broke off briefly taking the cigarette from his mouth and handing it to Jimmy, smoke spiralling from his mouth in the darkness. “Sometimes you just have to accept that you can’t understand everything all at once. You don’t need to find everything out at once, you just need to let it happen. It can all wait. What’s the hurry?” His tone was uncharacteristically soft and measured, and Jimmy looked up at him in surprise, letting the words sink through the mist of tiredness shrouding his thoughts.

He looked at the way Thomas’ soft black hair fell across his forehead, the way his grey eyes were startling and almost luminescent in the shadows, the way smoke curled enigmatically from his mouth like words that weren’t being spoken, and Jimmy suddenly couldn’t help smiling.

“What?” Thomas frowned, tapping ash to the ground with an elegant flick of his fingers.

“I don’t know,” Jimmy shook his head, still smiling. He was exhausted and his head ached and his thoughts were scribed in a language he couldn’t read, but suddenly, he felt happier than he could remember having felt in a long time, just standing and smoking with Thomas like they did every night. Only this time it was different somehow— and not just because they were in a different city where the stars weren’t in the sky but were captured in lamps lining the bleak streets. Jimmy could feel the happiness welling up inside of him, crushing the guilt and the confusion until it was all he could feel for that moment.  

He wanted to say something, to say how happy he suddenly felt— but he didn’t know how to put it into words. The feeling was something which couldn’t be trapped by words, it was indefinable and wonderful, and Jimmy couldn’t explain it to anyone, best of all, let alone, himself. But maybe, somehow, Thomas understood— because he was smiling back at Jimmy.

It was a rare, tentative, real smile, and it broke away the careful clouds across Thomas’ gaze, until Jimmy could see him so clearly it almost hurt.

And for once, Jimmy felt as though all the questions could wait— even if it was just for a moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took such a while to get posted, writer's block and coursework suck. I'm not too sure how I feel about this chapter, was it alright? I know not a lot happened, but trust me, it will soon- this was just kind of a build up. Poor little Jimmy and his confused thoughts. Thank you so much to everyone who gave feedback on the last chapter, you're all wonderful.<3 I'm super excited about the next chapter- it should be up soon! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and feedback would be utterly amazing as I'm feeling a little unsure about my writing right now.<3


	9. Chapter 9

When Jimmy awoke, it was dark and silent. He could vaguely taste smoke and cologne in the unlit air, and the quality of silence he woke up to was somehow subtly different than usual; as though he wasn’t the only one there to ensure its presence. It took a moment for the remnants of unconsciousness to fade and for Jimmy to remember where he was. The events of the past few days rushed through his head, filling it with questions, and he opened his eyes blearily only to be met with a subtly lighter shade of darkness.

 

It was still hours from dawn; the only variation in darkness was the streetlamps that flared outside on the dark London street, ebbing through the thin material of the curtains. The air against Jimmy’s face was sharp and cold in comparison to the cosy warmth under his blankets, and his eyes ached with tiredness— yet he felt inexplicably content, as though he’d slept soundly for the first time in weeks. There was no lingering unease from unfinished dreams, no tight knot of agitation in his stomach. With a soft sigh that seemed to fill the darkened room, Jimmy rolled over onto his side, pulling the blankets more snugly around himself.

 

His thoughts were still blurred from sleep— an anthology of questions and their possible answers— but as his eyes grew accustomed to the faint light, Jimmy was able to make out the vague outline of Thomas in the bed opposite.

 

The other man was perfectly still, eyes shut serenely as though he was as composed and unruffled in his dreams as he was in wakefulness. The blankets were pushed down a little, so that Jimmy could see the pale sliver of Thomas’ chest at the neckline of his undershirt, and the way his arm stretched across the mattress beside him, glove off, palm turned upwards— almost as though he was waiting for someone to catch hold of it. 

 

Jimmy suddenly couldn’t help thinking how completely and wonderfully unguarded Thomas looked, simply lying there with his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling softly. It was only then that Jimmy realised just how cautious Thomas was in wakefulness; every action was reserved and careful, never impulsive. When he was awake, Thomas only ever disclosed a minute fraction of himself… Jimmy thought that he was rather like a black and white film at the pictures— artful to watch, but ultimately a misrepresentation of the truth because it was only arranged for the desired effect.

 

Jimmy wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away. It was so rare to see Thomas so simply; without the façade and the sarcasm and the cool disinterest. He somehow seemed more real to Jimmy than he ever had before; it felt as though he was tantalisingly close to the answers of the questions he’d been asking for weeks. Like this, Thomas was more like half an answer— rather than lots of little broken pieces of different ones. His face was tender and poignant, his chest rising and falling softly in the darkness. Jet black hair flopped across his closed eyes, and he somehow gave the impression of being both far away and closer than ever before. Jimmy couldn’t help wondering that someone who was only a few feet away could simultaneously so far away; if Jimmy reached out, he could almost touch the bed that Thomas was sleeping in— and yet Thomas himself seemed to far away, because Jimmy was so far away from understanding him.

 

The man lying there, breathing softly in and out, was more of a mystery to Jimmy than anything, and seeing him like that, so simply, reminded Jimmy not only of the extent to which he didn’t know Thomas— but also just how much he desperately _wanted_ to know him. It was bizarre, to feel so close to Thomas and yet so far away at the same time. But Jimmy suppose that was sort of like Thomas; full of contradictions. Everything was somehow just so much simpler when he was with Thomas— and yet so much more complicated at the same time. When he wasn’t with Thomas, the questions swamped his mind and crushed the air from his lungs, but when he was, more and more and more were created.

 

These days, Jimmy was used to waking up with a head full of questions that desperately needed to be answered, but when he could unquestionably see Thomas in the bed across from his, they somehow seemed less urgent. Instead of feeling the desperation to get up and find Thomas and ask him questions, Jimmy simply watched Thomas’ chest gently rising and falling until his own eyelids were drooping and he was drifting back into sleep as the lamps outside on the street continued to flare, trapping the light of the stars. He knew the questions would still be there when he woke up.

 

 

~

 

 

 

When Jimmy awoke again, it was no longer dark and silent. The lamp on the vanity was lit, and he could dimly hear the bustle of the kitchen down the hall. He blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes, and Thomas swam blurrily into view. The other man was sitting fully-dressed on the bed opposite, mending the hemming of a dinner jacket. His long, pale fingers worked skilfully with the needle and thread, and his face was a picture of pale composure— he could almost have been a different person to the one Jimmy had watched breathing softly in and out in the darkness only a few hours before.

 

“’Morning, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy mumbled sleepily, his voice feeling rough with tiredness. He leant up in bed, letting a hand tangle in his tousled blonde hair as he looked over at Thomas, who had glanced up at the sound of Jimmy’s voice, his grey gaze careful and unruffled— although his hands stilled on the material.

 

“Good morning,” Thomas replied evenly before dropping his gaze back to the dinner jacket. Jimmy couldn’t help noticing that he was slightly paler than usual, and there were heavy, dark circles weighing down his grey eyes as though he’d been awake for hours. Jimmy frowned slightly, wondering why Thomas looked so tired— he’d seemed to be sleeping peacefully when Jimmy had been awake earlier, but he supposed that was just a small sliver of the night. He wanted to ask Thomas, but he wanted to save his questions for when he knew Thomas would answer them properly.

 

“Pass us a cigarette,” Jimmy said instead, rubbing his eyes tiredly and trying to push his dishevelled blonde hair into some kind of submission.

 

“Cigarettes before breakfast?” Thomas raised an eyebrow— but he deftly threw the packet of cigarettes that had been sitting on his dresser to Jimmy. “Whatever would Mr. Carson say?” he said sardonically.

 

“Mr. Carson isn’t here,” Jimmy mumbled around the cigarette, fumbling clumsily with Thomas’ lighter. “Thank god.”

 

“Amen to that,” Thomas intoned, his expression as unreadable as ever. 

 

Jimmy smoked in an odd silence for a few moments as Thomas continued to work on the hem of the dinner jacket. His posture was tense and Jimmy could see the muscles in his jaw were clenched. His inky black hair was slicked back seamlessly, accentuating the sharp impassivity of his expression, which was almost painful in comparison to the unguarded softness Jimmy had seen on it when the world outside was silent and only the lamps lit the street. He had never realised before just how uncomfortable if looked until he’d seen the contrast.

 

“So, what’s happening today?” Jimmy asked after a while, when Thomas continued to sew in silence and didn’t acknowledge Jimmy’s wakefulness further. Jimmy leant back on his arms, blowing lazy rings of smoke up into the air as he watched Thomas’ fingers deftly work the needle and thread, his expression blank. He fleetingly wondered if Thomas was as much of a mystery to himself as he was to Jimmy.

 

“We’re to help them prepare the house fro the ball this evening,” Thomas said evenly without glancing up. His voice was slightly rougher than usual, as if he’d been smoking frequently. “And as well as performing our valet duties, we’re also serving at the ball this evening thanks to the footmen who went down with colds.”

 

“What about this afternoon?” Jimmy asked, carelessly knocking ash into the already full tray on the vanity. He suddenly remembered that it hadn’t been so full when he’d gone to sleep the night before, and he couldn’t help wondering if Thomas had been sitting awake and smoking in the night.

 

“There’s nothing I’ve been told of,” Thomas replied, carefully snipping the fraying end of the thread he was darning the dinner jacket with and still not meeting Jimmy’s gaze. 

 

“Well, what do you say we go out into London?” Jimmy asked suddenly, exhaling impatiently to get the smoke out of his words. He sat up properly, gaze fixed on Thomas. “I’ve never really had much chance to see it before.”

 

Thomas hesitated for a split second, fingers pausing on the stitching.

 

“I’ll have to check that we can be spared,” Thomas responded evenly, glancing up so that Jimmy caught a flash of poignant grey and bloodshot eyes.

 

“We can ask our questions then,” Jimmy said, grinning. He pushed a hand through his tousled hair and took another lazy drag of the cigarette, eyes still fixed on Thomas who had returned to the sewing. “Seeing as we’ve not really had the chance the past few days. I think we’re owed three each, including today’s ones.”

 

Thomas finished the last stitch and glanced up fleetingly, an unconvincing smile doing nothing to hide the stiffness of his expression. He had looked so peaceful while he was asleep, but now Jimmy could see the prominence of the dark circles under his grey eyes as though Thomas hadn’t slept at all. Even although the other man maintained his unruffled, measured expression, Jimmy could clearly see the shadows of sleeplessness that hollowed his face and the increased pallor of his skin.

 

“Did you sleep quite well, Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy asked, feeling uncomfortable just for asking the question.

 

“Perfectly, thank you. I have to return this to laundry before the day starts properly,” Thomas said coolly, carefully folding up the dinner jacket and any doubts that the subject wasn’t closed. “And I expect breakfast will be served shortly.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Jimmy said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray on the bedside table and pushing back the blankets. The cold morning air hit his bare chest like a slap and he shivered as he looked around for his robe, pushing his ruffled blonde hair out of his eyes. As he did so, he suddenly caught sight of the expression of Thomas’ face. It was stiffly expressionless, and his grey eyes didn’t quite meet Jimmy’s gaze. Jimmy swallowed uncomfortably, suddenly feeling horribly aware of his bare chest as Thomas held out the navy blue robe which Jimmy had carelessly tossed onto the vanity the night before.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking it and feeling a split-second brush of Thomas’ fingers against his own— but then the contact was gone and Thomas abruptly turned away, putting the needle and thread back into the sewing box. The air between them suddenly seemed too thick to move in.

 

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” Thomas said in a tone which was so tight it almost crushed the words. He picked up the box from the vanity and made his way to the door as Jimmy pulled on the robe, tying it around his waist with slightly shaking hands. Thomas closed the door behind him with a snap, leaving Jimmy feeling a familiar prickling sensation of anger at his own carelessness.

 

 

~

 

 

 

As it turned out, they were able to be spared for a few hours in the afternoon provided they had finished the preparations for the ball. Jimmy hurried through his morning chores with an increasingly familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. He’d never really known the feeling before he’d become friends with Thomas; nothing had held much appeal or seemed particularly important— there was nothing Jimmy really wanted to do because he hadn’t cared. But he cared now; he cared about asking questions— asking _Thomas_ questions.

 

Time seemed to drag on endlessly until Luncheon, and even then, it seemed to take forever until everyone had finished their bread and onion soup. Jimmy jiggled his legs up and down impatiently under the table and gulped down his soup far too fast so that it burnt his throat. He kept managing to catch Thomas’ gaze across the table and grinning, and although the dark circles were still heavy under Thomas’ gaze, he smiled genuinely back. Jimmy felt tremendously relieved that the other man seemed to have forgiven his carelessness that morning; but he supposed that that Thomas must be used to having to forgiving his thoughtlessness.

 

After changing out of his livery once Luncheon was over and everyone had returned to their jobs, Jimmy donned his hat and scarf and hurried back down to the servants’ hall to meet Thomas. The other man was already waiting for him by the back door in his dark coat, hat and navy blue scarf that somehow made him look handsome and inscrutable. He looked up when Jimmy approached, and when he smiled briefly— just a brief, perfunctory smile— Jimmy was surprised at the inexplicable happiness he suddenly felt.

 

“Ready?” Thomas asked, pulling on his black leather gloves and opening the door.

 

Jimmy nodded, and followed Thomas out of the back door and onto the icy London street. The world was full of grey; stark and beautiful in comparison to the cosy warmth of the servants’ quarters. Icy cold stung Jimmy’s skin and the sky overhead was heavy with a grey that seemed almost tangible in the bitter air, as though the snow bruising the November cloud had already begun to fall without being seen. 

 

“Do you think it’s going to snow?” Jimmy wondered, staring up at the incomprehensibly vast and bitter sky as they made their way down the colourless street. It seemed to press down on their shoulders, yet Jimmy couldn’t reach up and touch it no matter how high he jumped. It was overwhelmingly close and far away at the same time, and reminded him of lying in bed earlier that day, watching Thomas sleeping in silence. 

 

“Perhaps,” Thomas mused, sparing a fleeting glance at the sky before lighting a cigarette. The smoke from it clouded the icy air that was already stinging his pale cheeks a faint shade of pink. He took a long drag of the cigarette, cheeks hollowing as he sucked the smoke into his lungs, and then he handed it over to Jimmy.

 

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, feeling an odd pang of something that was a lot like disappointment as he felt the brush of cool leather rather than warm skin against his fingers. “Where shall we go?” he asked, looking round expectantly at Thomas.

 

“I’m happy to follow you,” Thomas replied evenly. He glanced up briefly at the sky, exhaling smoke so that it curled coldly up into the icy cloud as though there was no space between the cloud and their breaths. Jimmy thought that he looked like a still from the pictures; the flawless angle of his jaw and the smoke curling coldly from his lips that were dark red in contrast to the pallor of his face and his surroundings, as though he’d been drinking wine and somehow got lost in a black and white world.

 

Jimmy suddenly couldn’t help wondering why he so desperately wanted to understand Thomas. He didn’t understand anyone, not even himself, but that had never bothered him before. Why, out of all the strangers passing them by on the wintry London streets, was Thomas the only one Jimmy cared about knowing? Was it because he had been forced to alter his feelings of the other man time and time again? Was it because he felt somehow indebted to Thomas for saving him all those months ago? Or was it because he was the person who’d somehow got closer to Jimmy than anyone before? Maybe it was none of those things, but a mismatched combination of them along with something indefinable and inexplicable— like the pure, overwhelming happiness Jimmy had experienced the night before, standing in the smoky yard and staring up at the icy London sky.

 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Thomas’ voice shattered Jimmy’s thoughts, and he looked up to see Thomas looking questioningly at him, eyes impossibly grey against the frozen, overcast streets. Jimmy was suddenly struck once again by how utterly different walking with Thomas was to walking with Ivy. Thomas noticed everything but voiced very little, whereas Ivy noticed very little and voiced everything.

 

“I was thinking,” Jimmy shrugged, scuffing his shoe against the side of the pavement.

 

“I’ve warned you about that before,” Thomas quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Well, I wish I was in control of it,” Jimmy replied with feeling, taking a drag of the last of the cigarette Thomas had offered him and casting it to the frozen pavement. He stuck his hands in his pockets, matching his pace with Thomas. The streets were relatively quiet; it was a bitter afternoon, with grey air that stung at Jimmy’s skin and made his eyes smart with the cold. He quite liked the quietness of it, though— it reminded him of walking with Thomas back at Downton.

 

“What do you mean?” Thomas frowned.

 

“I’m too impatient to think about things properly,” Jimmy sighed, although he hadn’t really meant to say it out loud. “I can’t… I can’t understand my own thoughts.”

 

“Who does?” Thomas retorted, flaring his lighter and pulling out another cigarette.

 

“Do you ever think it might be easier to understand someone else’s?” Jimmy asked curiously, watching the way Thomas’ gloved fingers expertly lit it and slid the lighter back into his coat pocket as they rounded the corner into a quieter street.

 

Thomas frowned, cheeks hollowing as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “I doubt it. If you find your own thoughts difficult, how could you possibly begin to comprehend someone else’s?”

 

“Maybe they’d at least be finished— I can’t finish thinking about one thing before I’m thinking about something else and then I have too many thoughts and they’re all unfinished,” Jimmy frowned. “It’s easier just to blurt them out— when they’re in my head they don’t make sense.”

 

“But they do when you voice them?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

 

“Not always,” Jimmy conceded wryly, taking the cigarette from between Thomas’ gloved fingers and feeling the warmth from where Thomas’ mouth had been when he placed it between his lips. He took a long drag and handed it back to Thomas before continuing. “It means I’m too impulsive. I wish I thought about things before I said them— I wish I was more cautious the way you are.”

 

“Don’t wish that,” Thomas said impassively, blowing smoke out into the frozen air. He met Jimmy’s gaze, grey and unreadable. “You’re lucky. You don’t need to be cautious.”

 

And Jimmy suddenly felt distinctly uncomfortable and foolish; he’d led the conversation but he hadn’t realised its destination, which was ultimately the destination of any of his conversations with Thomas if they were pursued to the end. He wanted to ask Thomas questions, but they somehow froze on the tip of his tongue like the smoke curling through the air between them and fading as they walked. The dark circles under Thomas’ eyes made them look almost blue against all the grey surrounding them, and they somehow hurt to look at— so Jimmy stared at his feet instead, watching them move over the cracks in the pavement. 

 

He searched around desperately for something to say, but before he could think of something that wasn’t trite or pointless, Thomas opened his mouth.

 

“So, where do you want to walk?” he asked coolly.

 

“I don’t mind,” Jimmy said honestly, his mind still caught up in the words that had been spoken a few paces back.

 

“Well, hat makes a change,” Thomas remarked lightly, raising his eyebrows slightly.

 

“How… how about over there?” Jimmy suggested suddenly, pointing across the road to slightly rusting gothic ironwork gates of a park. It looked like a room that hadn’t been opened for years; dusty with bleak frost and stark trees that shivered without their leaves. The ground was frozen and grey like the sky, and wound its way through the lonely trees in a path that was strewn with dead leaves coated in ice and decay. It should have been austere and uninviting, yet somehow so much coldness glittered.

 

“If you like,” Thomas shrugged easily, exhaling in a plume of smoke. “But first, I think there’s a shop just round the corner that you might like.”

 

Jimmy frowned, turning to look at Thomas. “What shop?”

 

“Wait and see,” Thomas said impassively. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and led the way around the corner and into a narrower lane that was lit with Christmas lights that made the sky look greyer than ever.

 

“Where are we going?” Jimmy demanded, falling in to step with Thomas.

 

“Here,” Thomas said, coming to a halt outside a tiny, cosily lit shop to their left. The window was slightly grimy and a slightly peeling sign that read ‘Arthur’s Music’ hung over the doorway.

 

Jimmy looked questioningly at Thomas, but the other man merely raised his eyebrows ever so slightly and held the door open for Jimmy.

 

Inside, the shop was warm and dusty compared to the sharpness of the November air outside and smelt like old books and violin resin. It was dimly lit, and the tall shelves seemed to bow under the weight of the endless music books and sheets. Jimmy gazed around in wonder, taking in the seemingly endless shelves of songs and sonatas and duets all waiting to be played under the dust.

 

“…How many pieces of music do you think there are?” Jimmy asked in hushed tones, staring up at the cramped shelves. He glanced around to find Thomas’ inscrutable grey eyes already on him. Jimmy fleetingly wondered how Thomas could find him more interesting than all the music in the shop.

 

“Pick one,” Thomas said impassively, but Jimmy caught a faint flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Or two.”

 

Jimmy frowned, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

 

“Your Christmas present,” Thomas said evenly.

 

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “But it’s only November, Mr. Barrow.”

 

“Well, I thought I might get yours early, seeing as there’s nowhere like this back at Downton,” Thomas said. His tone was cool and unaffected, but Jimmy could see his eyes glittering in the dim lighting of the shop. “Go on. Pick one, Jimmy.”

 

“Oh— Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Thomas said coolly, but he was smiling slightly too, and for the first time that day, the dark circles under his eyes looked less pronounced. “Perhaps it will give you something to do other than pester me with questions.” He raised his eyebrows teasingly at Jimmy.

 

“If that was your hope then I’m sorry to say it will be in vain,” Jimmy grinned, running his finger across the sheets of music on the shelf beside him and turning to look at Thomas. “I’m afraid that I can’t think that anything would be better than asking questions— not even sheet music, although that comes a close second.”

 

“I’m not sure I will ever understand what you find so wonderful about questions,” Thomas remarked quietly, gaze intent. For once, Thomas expression did not give the impression that he could read everything; it was tinted with a curiosity that Jimmy rarely saw on the surface.

 

“Well, I’m not sure I will, either,” Jimmy replied honestly, picking up a folder marked ‘London jazz arrangements’ and flipping through it.

 

“Perhaps that’s why,” Thomas mused.

 

Jimmy looked at him for a moment— the angular cheekbones and inscrutable grey eyes and black hair slicked seamlessly back— and smiled slightly. “Perhaps.”

 

Thomas returned it slightly before turning to look at the shelves himself. They stood in silence for a while as Jimmy looked through various arrangements and compositions, searching for the sheets that were marked ‘duets’. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken with the heaviness of the snow it held, and the lamps had been lit, even though it was barely three o’clock.

 

“What did you like to play? When you were young, I mean,” Jimmy asked suddenly, looking up at Thomas. He caught a flicker of surprise in Thomas’ grey eyes, but it was masked quickly.

 

“It’s too long ago for me to remember,” Thomas said in a tone that made Jimmy sure this was not actually the case. However, he did not press the point, and instead slid the folder he was holding back onto the shelf and held up two pieces of sheet music.

 

“I think I’ll go with these ones then if that’s alright with you, Mr. Barrow,” he said, unable to suppress a grin.

 

“It’s your Christmas present, not mine,” Thomas remarked, raising an eyebrow at Jimmy.

 

“Well, partially…” Jimmy held out the pieces for Thomas to see.

 

“Duets.” A reluctant smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of Thomas’ mouth although he tried hard to mask it. “I suppose I should have seen that coming.”

 

“Now you’ll have to play with me when we get back, Mr. Barrow” Jimmy grinned. Thomas said nothing, but he didn’t try to stop himself from smiling this time and simply grinned back, the smile splitting across his face for a split second and Jimmy thought that even if Thomas didn’t play duets with him when they got home, it was somehow worth it just to see that. 

 

As Thomas went to pay for them at the counter, it suddenly struck Jimmy that all the questions had begun because he’d accidentally played something on the piano that Thomas’ mother had used to play. Jimmy wondered how it had gone from being friendly acquaintances with Thomas, sharing cigarette breaks or exchanged glances of contempt across the breakfast table, to being desperate to know Thomas better than anyone else ever had or ever would. A few months ago, Jimmy would never have imagined that he could have been so interested in someone else; that he’d end up sitting side by side at the piano, playing duets with a man whose life he’d once tried to ruin. Yet somehow, it didn’t feel as surreal as Jimmy would have expected it to have done.

 

 

~

 

 

 

“So,” Thomas pulled his lighter from his coat pocket and flared it, lighting the cigarette between his lips. “Questions.”

 

They had left the music shop and were sitting on a peeling wooden bench under frail poplar trees in the park, which was silent and full of frost that crunched underfoot. The clouds in the sky were greyer than ever, and the air was painfully bitter, making the frosty grass glitter in anguish and the red berries on the trees shrivel.

 

“We agreed that we have two extra each as well as the ones for today, didn’t we?” Jimmy asked, unwrapping the mince pies they’d bought at the baker a few doors down from the music shop. The paper around them was still warm, and the smell of spices and pastry curled into the bitter air.

 

Thomas glanced at Jimmy, the smallest of smirks pulling at his mouth— but he said nothing, merely exhaled in a plume of smoke that overpowered the spice of the mince pies and the taste of imminent snow in the cold air.

 

“You go first, then,” he said evenly, taking another drag of his cigarette so his cheeks hollowed out, emphasising the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

 

Jimmy paused for a moment, staring at the mince pies in his lap. He cast his mind over the array of questions he wanted to ask Thomas, but they were suddenly all a meaningless blur now that Thomas was sitting beside him on the peeling wood of the bench under the frozen poplar trees, much more real than any answers.

 

“Why did you start smoking?” Jimmy asked after a moment, watching the way the smoke curled from the other man’s mouth more easily than words.

 

“Why?” Thomas repeated questioningly, a slight frown creasing his forehead. He tapped ash to the ground at their feet, where the dead leaves were frozen in time by frost.

 

Jimmy nodded, breaking off a bit of one of the mince pies and biting into it. Warm, gooey fruit burnt his tongue, sweet and spicy in contrast to the bitterness of the grey November afternoon, where the snow was so prominent in the clouds that it almost seemed visible without having to fall. The tip of Thomas’ nose was slightly red from the cold, and faint pink stood out on his cheeks from where the icy wind had stung them as they walked through the park, footsteps crunching on the frosty path.

 

His grey eyes, instead of blending into the world of heavy grey around them, somehow seemed more vivid than ever in contrast to the pallor of his face and the jet black of his pomaded hair.

 

“It’s better than small talk,” Thomas replied after a moment, exhaling slowly and looking at Jimmy.

 

Jimmy smiled slightly, thinking how ironic it was that he had started smoking for exactly the opposite reason— to have an excuse to talk to Thomas, not avoid it.

 

“Why are you smiling?” Thomas’ voice broke through Jimmy’s thoughts and he looked up, shaking his head slightly.

 

“Never mind,” Jimmy replied, still smiling. He broke off another piece of mince pie and offered it to Thomas, who exhaled smokily and took it with gloved fingers, placing it into his mouth. His lips were startlingly red against his pale skin, slightly chapped from the cold and the smoke of his cigarettes.

 

“My turn, is it?” Thomas asked, swallowing. He passed the cigarette between them, and Jimmy could feel Thomas’ gaze on him as he took a drag of it, lingering and heavy.

 

“Go ahead,” Jimmy agreed through his exhale, looking expectantly at Thomas, his heart suddenly beating faster. The other man’s expression was completely unreadable, but the two pink spots on his cheeks from the cold were slightly darker as he took the cigarette back from Jimmy and placed it between his lips.

 

“Alright,” Thomas said, blowing smoke into the air and turning back to fix Jimmy with one of those gazes that Jimmy somehow found it impossible to look away from. His grey eyes were so completely unreadable that Jimmy found that he couldn’t bring himself to look away until he’d figured out even the tiniest little thing about them. If that was the case, he wondered if he’d ever be able to look away. “When did you learn to play the piano?”

 

“I was about seven,” Jimmy frowned, remembering.

 

“Did you enjoy it?” Thomas asked, smoke curling from his mouth.

 

“Not then,” Jimmy laughed. “I _hated_ it at first. My teacher was a miserable old bat. She insisted on calling me James and made me play chords at the start and end of every lesson. I don’t think I actually enjoyed playing for years— perhaps not even until I came to Downton.”

 

“What do you mean?” Thomas’ brow was furrowed in confusion. He’d seemingly forgotten his cigarette between his gloved fingertips; it was burning down, ash dropping to the frosty ground at their feet of its own accord.

 

“I daresay it was just another thing to show off.” Jimmy frowned in surprise at the words he’d just uttered. Around Thomas, he so often seemed to voice things which he didn’t know to be true until that moment. Thomas provided answers for Jimmy as much as he did for himself, and Jimmy wasn’t sure why, but he was unintentionally honest around Thomas in a way he had never been with anyone.

 

“I didn’t really enjoy _playing_ , just the reaction it got me,” Jimmy went on, staring up at the snow-laden sky rather than looking at Thomas, although he could feel the weight of the other man’s gaze on him. “But I do enjoy it now. And I enjoy playing duets with you even more,” Jimmy added honestly, looking away from the grey clouds and to where Thomas’ gaze hadn’t left him, as unreadable and astute as ever.

 

Thomas did say anything, but something in his eyes altered subtly, and Jimmy suddenly felt uncomfortably exposed. He dropped his gaze and took another bit of mince pie, letting the warm, sweet, spicy taste fill his mouth. Without thinking his broke off a piece and held it up to Thomas’ lips, feeling the warmth of Thomas’ smoky breath against his fingers. In a split second, the dynamic of their interchange altered completely. Thomas rarely let emotions seep into his appearance, but Jimmy didn’t miss the fleeting surprise that flashed through his grey gaze at the contact.

 

The sky suddenly seemed to press much more heavily down on the park, crushing all the oxygen from the air to replace it with pregnant grey. Jimmy could feel the soft, slightly chapped warmth of Thomas’ lips against his cold fingers, and his heart was suddenly thudding so fast in his chest that he couldn’t think straight as he stared at Thomas, frozen to the spot.

 

The pink on Thomas’ cheeks had flushed darker, and Jimmy suddenly realised that his fingers were still lingering on Thomas’ lips. Feeling the embarrassment burning his own cheeks, Jimmy jerked his hand away, putting it back in his lap and dropping his gaze to the frosty ground, heart thumping. He couldn’t believe how careless he had been again, how painfully easy it was to accidentally trample fragile line of their friendship in a few, simple seconds.

 

The air between them felt frozen, as though it had stopped the moment Jimmy had made the silly, impulsive move. He hadn’t meant to do it at all; when he was with Thomas, it was almost as though he wasn’t in control of his thoughts or actions. He hadn’t even realised he’d done it until he’d felt the blood burning beneath Thomas’ lips, so red compared to the cold— it was just how he gave Thomas answers without realising their truth until they were out of his mouth. Jimmy could feel guilt pooling uncomfortably in his stomach, curdling with the sweetness of the mince pie that he could still taste in his mouth.

 

For a split second, Jimmy suddenly thought that his vision was blurring as he stared out tensely across the lonely, frozen space of the darkening park so that he wouldn’t have to look and Thomas and have the guilt pool in his stomach— but then he looked up, and realised that it was snowing. Soft, tentative flakes of white were tumbling from the anguished sky and melting at the hard concrete ground at their feet.

 

“It’s snowing,” Jimmy exclaimed in delight, turning to look at Thomas.

 

“It is,” Thomas replied evenly in a detached sort of tone. He didn’t look at Jimmy, and Jimmy could see a muscle jumping in Thomas’ jaw. Silence fell between them again, as heavy and inescapable as the snow that fell from the bruised, steely sky.

 

Jimmy swallowed uncomfortably. There was still half of the mince pie left, cooling in the paper, but he no longer felt like eating it. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Thomas’ rigid posture. Every time Jimmy accidentally got too close, Thomas seemed to freeze like an animal under attack. Jimmy couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to be friends with someone, yet be unable to ever relax in their presence. He felt indescribably awful to think that he was the source of so much discomfort for the other man.

 

“Do you sometimes wish that you weren’t friends with me?” Jimmy asked suddenly, his voice feeling uncomfortably loud in the silence that had settled between them like a thin blanket of snow.

 

He looked up, watching the way that Thomas’ grey eyes seemed to reflect the falling snowflakes. They were more impossibly grey than the sky overhead, and Jimmy could feel the subtle warmth of Thomas’ body beside him were they sat squashed together in the cold.

 

“No,” Thomas said after a moment, his voice slightly quieter than usual. The pink still stood out on his cheekbones, softening the sharpness of his features despite the clench of his jaw. “I wish it was easier to be friends with you.”

 

“I wish it was too,” Jimmy said quietly, folding his hands uncomfortably in his lap. He looked at Thomas, who was so utterly striking against the falling snow; wine-red lips, jet black hair and intense black pupils that eclipsed the grey of his eyes and made his gaze heavy and warm despite the bitterness of the sky.

 

“We should be getting back,” Thomas said abruptly, but his tone wasn’t unkind.

 

“But what about the rest of our questions?” Jimmy asked, his heart sinking. “You’ve got two left, and I’ve got one.”

 

Thomas didn’t say anything for a moment; he placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly into the bitter air. The snow mingled with the snowflakes uncomfortably. “How about I ask you one now, and then we both have one each later?”

 

“When’s later?” Jimmy pressed, watching Thomas anxiously.

 

“I’m sure there’ll be time after the ball this evening,” Thomas said coolly, taking another drag of the cigarette.

 

“Alright,” Jimmy agreed. “What’s your question, then?”

 

“Give me a moment to think of one,” Thomas said impassively. Smoke spilled from his lips as he stared out at the falling snow. Jimmy watched Thomas smoke his way through the cigarette, his gloved fingers perfectly still despite the fact his cheeks were still slightly flushed.

 

“Who’s the best friend you’ve ever had?” Thomas asked eventually, taking a last drag of the cigarette and crushing it under the heel of his shoe. Smoke faded into the air, like a fleeting idea that couldn’t hold onto reality and was enveloped by its enormity.

 

Jimmy pushed the mince pie crumbs into a little pile on the paper in his lap, considering. “I don’t suppose I’ve ever been particularly good at making friends,” he conceded, shaping the crumbs into a clumsy star. He could feel the weight of Thomas’ gaze on him.

 

“I find that hard to believe.”

 

Jimmy looked up, meeting Thomas’ unflinchingly grey gaze that gave the impression of seeing everything at the same time as giving nothing away.

 

“Really?” Jimmy challenged, more quietly than he had meant to. Snow always seemed to deepen the quality of silence. “I’ve never really been interested enough in someone other than myself to be a good friend to them. I’ve never really _wanted_ a friend— and anyone who ever became something close I always manage to hurt by being so thoughtless. I suppose I’ve only ever really had one true friend.”

 

“Oh?” Thomas’ expression conveyed mild disinterest, but Jimmy could see the curiosity in his inscrutable gaze.

 

“You know it’s you, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed. He could feel his cheeks heating up, and he looked back at his lap, scattering the star of crumbs with his fingers.

 

Thomas didn’t say anything, but he nudged Jimmy gently with his elbow. “Come on,” he said, but the tone of his voice had softened, lost its discerning edge. “They’ll be expecting us back soon.”

 

The snow fell like dust motes in a lonely room, and was already covering their footsteps as they left the park, coating the rusting bench they’d sat on— as if they’d never been there at all.

 

 

~

 

 

 

By the time Jimmy finished serving at the ball, it was well after midnight and the snow was falling more heavily outside as he made his way to the servants’ quarters, a strange mixture of anticipation and nervousness curdling in the pit of his stomach. Ever since he’d left the snow park with Thomas earlier that day, he hadn’t been able to get rid of a peculiar, uneasy feeling that had settled somewhere between his lungs. It was like something he desperately needed to say yet kept swallowing down, and every time he did so it swelled up further— only Jimmy had no idea what it might be that he needed to say.

 

When he pushed open the door to the shared room, the feeling intensified. The room was dimly lit from the lamp on the vanity, and Thomas was sitting on the floor, back against his bed. He was smoking lazily, dinner jacket discarded and hair falling out of its pomade. There was a half-empty bottle of wine on the carpet beside him and smoke lingered above him in a murky haze as though he’d been there a while. He looked up fleetingly at the sound of Jimmy closing the door behind him, his careful expression slightly less guarded than usual, as though the alcohol had softened it.

 

“Bloody hell, if I have to serve one more drink, I think I’ll have a fit,” Jimmy groused, pulling off his livery jacket and throwing it onto his bed. He flopped down on the floor opposite Thomas, pushing a hand through his blonde hair and letting out a heavy sigh as he loosened his bow-tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt.

 

“Do you have any objections to drinking it yourself?” Thomas asked coolly, offering the half-empty wine bottle to Jimmy. His lips were stained slightly from it, making them look startlingly dark against his pale skin. The dark circles under his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever in the shadows of the room.

 

“Definitely not,” Jimmy said emphatically, gratefully taking the bottle from Thomas. The space between the two beds was relatively small, so he didn’t even have to stretch to reach it, feeling the fleeting brush of warmth as Thomas handed it over to him. 

 

Jimmy took a long swig, letting the lukewarm alcohol fill his senses before setting back down on the floor between them, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

 

“Where did you get this?”

 

“No one would have noticed its absence,” Thomas replied evenly, taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling lazily.

 

“How long have you been up here?” Jimmy persisted, noticing the way that Thomas’ composure was slightly less careful than usual and his movements were fluid and less measured. His dark hair was ruffled and softening from the pomade and he didn’t look so uncomfortable in Jimmy’s presence the way he had earlier. He looked different, somehow— as if a little of the composure had faded with the effects of the liberated wine. 

 

“A while,” Thomas said composedly, knocking ash into the already overflowing tray beside him. “Lord Grantham went up early, so I had nothing left to do.”

 

“Lucky you,” Jimmy said sourly, taking another long gulp of wine. “Charlie, the footman I was serving cocktails with, is obnoxious.

 

“More obnoxious than you?” Thomas quipped, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he exhaled in a plume of smoke that clouded the already smoky atmosphere of the dimly lit room.

 

Jimmy deftly swiped the cigarette from between Thomas’ elegant fingers in retaliation. “I am a delight to work with, I’ll have you know,” he said indignantly, tilting his head back and taking a long drag of the cigarette, letting the warm smoke fill his lungs.

 

“I’m sure Alfred would agree,” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, Charlie is awful,” Jimmy scowled, exhaling and handing the cigarette back to Thomas. “He’s so bloody clumsy, too. He knocked into me— _apparently_ accidentally— and I snagged the thread on my jacket. It’s the only one I have with me, I don’t know what I’ll do for tomorrow.”

 

“I can mend it for you, if you like,” Thomas offered evenly, swallowing a mouthful of the wine straight from the bottle, somehow managing to make the action look elegant.

 

Jimmy looked up, exhaling smoke. “Really?”

 

“I still have the sewing box from mending Lord Grantham’s dinner jacket this morning,” Thomas replied impassively. He put the cigarette between his lips and stood up, going across to the vanity from where the dull light was emanating, and picking up the little sewing box.

 

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, taking another gulp of wine as Thomas sat back down in front of him. His shirt was slightly creased and the bow tie was undone, and Jimmy thought that Thomas looked the most relaxed he had all day.

 

“Where is the stitching torn?” Thomas asked, taking the cigarette from his mouth and handing it to Jimmy as he eyed the lapel of the jacket. “It might be easier if you take it off,” he added coolly. 

 

“Can’t you do it while it’s on?” Jimmy asked. “This room isn’t particularly warm.”

 

Thomas seemed to hesitate for a split second, and Jimmy could see the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench before he spoke. “Fine,” he said curtly after a second. He took another sip of wine and opened up the sewing box. “Show me where it needs darned, then.”

 

“Just here, under my collar,” Jimmy said, pointing to the left lapel of the jacket. “I’m going to kill Johnson.”

 

“I hardly think that would help,” Thomas remarked coolly, threading the needle. He glanced up for a moment, expression utterly unreadable. “You’ll need to sit closer to me if you want me to fix it while you’re wearing it.”

 

Obligingly, Jimmy shifted closer to Thomas on the floor, so that there were only a few inches between them and Jimmy could almost feel the warmth of Thomas’ breath in the space between them. Something seemed to happen to the atmosphere between them; the distance between them suddenly felt much more pronounced to Jimmy despite the fact it had lessened. For some reason, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest as Thomas bowed his head, running his fingertips along the hem of the lapel and feeling for the broken stitching. The light pressure of his fingertips against Jimmy’s chest felt oddly lulling.

 

In some futile attempt to distract himself from the change in atmosphere, Jimmy took another long gulp of wine straight from the bottle.

 

“That stuff’s pretty strong,” he remarked, feeling the room spin slightly as he moved his head to watch Thomas’ fingers working on the fabric at his chest.

 

“It is,” Thomas agreed.

 

For several moments, Thomas sewed in silence, and Jimmy felt that the quiet was buzzing in his ears. He felt the inexplicable desire to fill it, to do something to take the focus away from the way he could taste the wine on Thomas’ breath between them and feel the slight pressure of Thomas’ knee against his. 

 

“I’m surprised you’re not asking questions,” Thomas said after a few more moments of silence as he glanced up fleetingly to thread the needle. His gaze met Jimmy’s grey and subtly amused.

 

“Well, seeing as you asked…” Jimmy raised his eyebrows. He paused for a moment, taking another gulp of wine as he cast his thoughts round his mind for something to ask, the taste of alcohol overpowering his senses. The last time he’d drunk was in the pub with Ivy. He fleetingly wondered if Thomas had ever gone drinking with a girl— if he’d ever taken a girl out and kissed her the way Jimmy had kissed Ivy in the startling darkness of the walk home.

 

“Have you ever been with a girl?” Jimmy asked suddenly, staring at Thomas and trying to picture him sitting with someone like Ivy in the pub in the village. He couldn’t quite imagine it, but he would hardly have found it surprising; he knew that Thomas was handsome and had often thought how ironic it was that so many girls threw appraising glances in Thomas’ direction that were completely worthless.

 

Thomas looked up, the pupils slightly wider than normal in his grey eyes. Jimmy could feel the warmth of Thomas’ knee pressed against his, and feel the slight pressure of where Thomas’ hand was still resting against his chest.

 

“Once,” he replied slowly, eyes not leaving Jimmy’s. “Just so that I knew it wasn’t what I wanted.”

 

For some reason Jimmy suddenly got a vivid flashback of how disgusting it had felt to kiss Ivy; how her lips had been too slippery and sweet and how her hair was too long and tangled in Jimmy’s fingers, trapping him. Jimmy frowned, taking another swig of wine and setting the bottle down clumsily on the floor— only a little of the red liquid spilled over the side and onto the black material of Thomas’ trousers.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy mumbled, hurriedly reaching out to wipe the wine from Thomas’ thigh. The second his fingers made contact with the material of Thomas’ trousers, Jimmy felt him freeze— but for some reason, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. It was almost as if he himself had frozen too; he was barely aware of what he was doing, yet it suddenly seemed inexplicably important. Curiously, tentatively, Jimmy trailed his fingertips a little way up Thomas’ thigh, hearing Thomas’ breath hitch in the suddenly deafening silence of the room. Somewhere distant, Jimmy _knew_ it wasn’t a good idea— but he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop. It felt as though he was seconds away from an answer, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop asking the questions that would lead to it.

 

He could feel the warmth of Thomas’ breath in the small space between them, and the points where their bodies touched suddenly seemed much more evident.

 

“Jimmy…” Thomas’ voice was throaty and hoarse, as though it was difficult to speak.

 

Jimmy looked up fleetingly at the sound of his voice, heart thudding, hand still lingering on Thomas’ thigh where he could feel the warmth of Thomas’ body beneath the thin fabric. When he glanced up from where his fingertips were resting on Thomas’ leg, he suddenly thought that he hadn’t remembered quite how close Thomas was sitting to him; he could count the blue flecks that were like rain in Thomas’ grey eyes, and feel the unsteady warmth of Thomas’ shallow breaths against his cheeks where the pores melted from pallor into flushed pink.

 

It was so rare for Thomas to wear his emotions on the outside— occasionally his eyes would flicker for a split second, unable to completely contain them— but other than that, he was seamless. But now he looked nothing short of tormented; his eyes were blazing, shadowed by sleepless circles, the black of his pupils intense and blown, colour standing out high on his cheeks, shockingly pink against the contrast of his jet black hair flopped across his forehead.

 

Jimmy suddenly couldn’t help thinking that he looked so wonderfully discomposed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Thomas look so unguarded— not even when he’d been asleep. It sent a slight thrill through Jimmy’s body that made something curl deep in the pit of his stomach and tingle in the tips of his fingers that were still rested on Thomas’ thigh. It was a pulling sensation; almost like a magnetic force.

 

“Jimmy… what are you doing?” Thomas whispered quietly, his voice soft and anguished. He looked as though he was enduring some kind of necessary pain.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy mumbled honestly, moving his fingers slightly and gently squeezing Thomas’ thigh. He heard Thomas stifle some kind of noise as he did so, and glanced up, eyes wide. Thomas’ cheeks were burnt pink like they had been when Jimmy had got too close that afternoon in the park, his pupils huge and heavy with blackness like they had been that time Jimmy had traced the scars on Thomas’ palm, his breathing shallow and unsteady like it had been when they’d played duets together on the piano and Jimmy had sat too close.

 

Jimmy didn’t know quite why he couldn’t bring himself to let go— he just couldn’t quite bring himself to end the moment just yet. Even though his heart was racing, his hand was perfectly steady where it touched Thomas and Jimmy felt peculiarly calm, as though he was in some kind of dreamlike state. He tightened his grip on Thomas’ thigh, feeling the warmth of it under the scratchy material of his livery trousers.

 

“I— Jimmy,” Thomas sounded breathless and torn between pain and pleasure, and when Jimmy didn’t look up but continued to stare at his own hand where it grasped Thomas, he tried to push Jimmy’s hand away. Jimmy could feel the urgency in the movement, and reluctantly removed his hand, suddenly finding it hard to breathe as he looked up and got caught in Thomas’ heavy gaze.

 

Thomas dropped his gaze almost instantly as though burnt, even though it was his own gaze that was blazing, and made to move away— but Jimmy put his hand back on Thomas’ leg, thumb moving in tiny, tentative circles on the inside of his thigh. He audibly heard Thomas stifle the groan in his chest. The sound reverberated out into the silence and did something peculiar to Jimmy’s stomach. He could taste the wine in the air between them, feel the warmth of Thomas’ uneven breaths against his neck, and suddenly felt a lot less calm— but he still couldn’t bring himself to let go.

 

It felt almost as though he understood Thomas, like this, as if this was the answer to all the questions— just seeing Thomas like this. The less he knew about himself, the more important it seemed to know Thomas, and now nothing seemed more important.

 

Jimmy let his gaze wander over Thomas, taking it all in. He wondered if Thomas’ heart was thudding wildly the way he could feel his own doing, if his breathing caught in his lungs the way Jimmy’s felt as though it was. Two spots of pink stood out on Thomas’ pale cheeks, softening the usually angular lines of his cheekbones, his pulse fluttered in the exposed skin of his throat, and Jimmy could see his chest rising and falling sharply. Jimmy let his gaze stray lower, and with a jolt that suddenly made everything seem very real, realised that Thomas was aroused. The material of his trousers was unmistakably tight around his erection, and Jimmy felt something curl in the pit of his stomach again at the sight.

 

He looked up in shock, his gaze somehow getting tangled with Thomas’ blazing one. For a moment, they just stared at each other, breathing shallowly in the smoky, dimly lit room. Jimmy felt he could almost taste the tension in the air between them, and the darkness of Thomas’ pupils did not decrease— if anything, it darkened, but when he spoke, his voice was painfully even.

 

“Do I disgust you?” Thomas’ voice was quiet, but full of bitterness.

 

Jimmy looked up, hand frozen where it was on Thomas’ thigh. Thomas’ eyes were smouldering grey, and his cheeks were flushed red as he looked almost defiantly at Jimmy— but Jimmy could see the complete uncertainty behind the blown, black pupils. _Being in love is being scared_ , Thomas had once told him. Jimmy cleared his throat, suddenly feeling as though he’d forgotten how to speak properly.

 

“No one… no one has ever disgusted me less,” he replied honestly. His voice felt heavy in his throat, his heart was thumping behind the confines of his ribs, and his fingertips were tingling were they touched Thomas as though they were close to something profound. The other man closed his eyes, looking serene for a split second, then he carefully pushed Jimmy’s hand away.

 

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” Thomas’ voice was breathless and rough. “You— you should go to bed.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Jimmy replied unsteadily, tracing his fingertips further up Thomas’ thigh so that they were inches away from where he could see Thomas’ erection straining against the material of his trousers. Arousal pooled acutely and suddenly in Jimmy’s groin, utterly unmistakable. He tried to shake away the blurry miasma of thoughts swirling through his head, the taste of wine overpowering his mouth. He’d never wanted answers so much in his life.

 

Thomas made a stifled sound as Jimmy began to rub his fingers in circles, and the sound sent a fresh wave of arousal through Jimmy.

 

“You… God… you don’t make it easy for me to be friends with you, Jimmy…” Thomas let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed. His fists were clenched as though he was enduring some kind of torture. Jimmy could see the little red, angry half-moon shapes on his palm where his nails had dug in. The colour stood out high on Thomas’ cheeks.

 

“Good,” Jimmy murmured, feeling half as though he was in some kind of dream. His heart was racing and he couldn’t think straight and he could feel Thomas’ shallow breaths against the side of his neck. He traced his hand a few centimetres further up Thomas’ thigh, and felt Thomas tense.

 

“You should go to bed,” Thomas said again, almost inaudibly. It sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.

 

“I already said—”

 

“I mean it,” Thomas said quietly, his tone suddenly a lot harder. Jimmy glanced up, staring the way Thomas’ grey eyes blazed with colour and his cheeks were flushed and his jaw was clenched so tightly it made his cheekbones almost uncomfortably sharp. Thomas slowly pushed Jimmy’s hand away and then stood up abruptly, leaving Jimmy sitting alone on the floor, thoughts whirling.

 

“Get some sleep, Jimmy. You’ll be yourself in the morning,” Thomas’ voice was quiet and pained as he turned away, pulling on his livery jacket and picking up his cigarettes from the vanity.

 

Jimmy suddenly felt completely lost, as though he was no longer himself and hadn’t been since he’d stepped into the room. The impact of what he’d done suddenly felt as though it was crushing him, and he couldn’t bear to look at Thomas’ turned back. He staggered up from the floor and fell into his bed, head still swirling with alcohol and unanswerable questions that suddenly instead of making him feel light and dizzy weighed him down sickeningly.

 

Outside the snow was falling more freely than ever, and his heart was thumping so fast he felt as though it would break— not just in two, but into uncountable shards that could never be repaired to make the same picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update has been such a long time coming! I hope the length of it makes up for it. I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I'd absolutely love to know what you thought of it, as it's kind of a turning point in the story and I worked so hard on this chapter - so if you have a moment, it'd be utterly amazing if you could drop a comment! Massive thanks to everyone for being so patient, and Merry Christmas! <3
> 
> P.S. Thank you so much to everyone who comments/messages/reblogs such lovely things about this story. I can't tell you how worthwhile it makes the effort that goes into it. You're all amazing!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just Thomas— just one, sole person— and yet he took up all the room inside Jimmy’s head until Jimmy felt as though it might explode.

Jimmy knew that something was different the moment he opened his aching eyes. He had awoken with his heart racing as though it hadn’t stopped all night, and his head was pounding with the aftermath of alcohol and too many unfinished thoughts. The air was half dark, and Jimmy realised blearily that he could only smell his own cologne in the air. With a jolt, he sat up and saw that was the bed opposite was empty and neatly made in a way that implied it wasn’t going to be slept in again. Thoughts tipping sideways as though they had fallen from a sheer precipice, Jimmy scrambled unsteadily out of bed, rushing across the room to pull back the curtains.

 

His heart had been thudding and thudding so fast it made him feel dizzy, but now it just stopped, and everything suddenly seemed horribly still. The space where Thomas’ neat brown suitcase and coat had sat was empty. Outside, it was just beginning to get light, and the snow had been frozen to the grey pavements and railings, unable to melt even if it wanted to.

 

For several moments, Jimmy just stood shivering in his underclothes, staring at the spot where Thomas’ suitcase had sat. The events of the night before still hung heavily in the air, clouding Jimmy’s thoughts so that it was impossible to think straight, no matter how hard he tried. It was as though all his coherent thoughts had been frozen in time like the snow outside on the ugly pavement by what he didn’t understand. Last night, it had felt as though the questions were circling closer and closer to something, but Jimmy couldn’t think of what it was now.

 

After a while, he managed to collect himself somewhat and started to dress in his livery, feeling as though he was only half there. The hurt was acute and real in his chest, as though there was an icicle lodged between his lungs. He glanced briefly in the mirror, catching a glimpse of shadowed eyes and ruffled golden hair, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet his own gaze in the glass. Jimmy didn’t know why; it felt somewhere between shame and fear of what he would find in it.

 

Even although he didn’t need to be downstairs for at least another half hour, Jimmy couldn’t bear to remain stifled in the room which suddenly seemed unbearably silent. There was no trace of the wine bottle from the night before, or the cigarette ashes. He supposed that Thomas must have tidied them away before he left, as though he was trying to erase all traces of the evening. With a sigh, Jimmy pulled on his livery jacket, trying desperately not to remember Thomas’ bowed head and skilled fingers mending it, and left the room.

 

Despite the fact his stomach was churning uncomfortably from a combination of wine and unfulfilled revelations, Jimmy sat down tensely at the breakfast table with the few other servants that were up. He helped himself to the smallest bit of toast for pretence, and turned to look at the housemaid sitting to his left. 

 

“Excuse me, but do you know if Mr. Barrow has left?” he asked in a would-be-casual voice, taking the smallest bite of toast he could manage. His voice felt rough with smoke and words he regretted.

 

The maid turned to look at him. Jimmy recognised her vaguely as the one who’d helped him clear up a bowl of spilled guacamole at the ball the night before. She was relatively pretty— dark, glossy hair and bright blue eyes. Jimmy fleetingly thought that he’d probably have wanted to take her out to the pictures before he’d started working at Downton. But now although he could appreciate her prettiness, it somehow seemed irrelevant.

 

“Yes, I believe so,” she replied briskly, buttering her toast. “Lord Grantham left for business in York first thing and I heard he’ll be staying there overnight, so Mr. Barrow went with him. He said that you’re still to go back on the train this afternoon with the rest of the party.” She smiled at Jimmy, but her eyes were too blue.

 

“Thank you,” Jimmy replied, manufacturing a smile in return. He forced down the last of his toast and stood up. “I think I’ll get a start on preparing breakfast upstairs,” he said, standing up. He didn’t think his stomach could face the porridge that the cook was ladling out at the other end of the table, and had no desire to make small talk with anyone. He wanted to smoke, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so alone— he knew that it would only make things worse. 

 

The maid smiled again fleetingly at him as he left before returning to her cup of tea. Jimmy slid out of the servants’ hall and hurried up the stairs, thoughts churning more sickeningly than his stomach. He hoped that perhaps, if he just kept himself busy all morning, he wouldn’t have the time to face them. He desperately wanted to see Thomas, yet at the same time he felt full of guilt and confusion, and he wasn’t sure how to make it better. Somehow, he wasn’t sure that questions were the answer this time— perhaps he needed to look more closely at the answers he already had than asking more questions. 

 

Even thought it was much earlier than necessary, Jimmy set out all the breakfast dishes and then retreated to the upstairs pantry which he began to tidy so he would not have to focus on the thoughts rushing round his head and making it ache more than ever. He was halfway through dispiritedly rearranging the teaspoons when he heard muffled voices in the hall and his heart leapt.

 

“No, no, Barrow, I’ll be back downstairs in a moment— I just must give this back to Cora. Wait here.” There was the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs, and then silence. Hesitantly, Jimmy set down the teaspoon he was holding and ducked out into the hallway, heart beating so fast it felt as though it was trying to break the bones of his ribcage.

 

With a jolt, he saw that Thomas was standing by the front door. His posture was stiff and immaculate and he was wearing the dark coat, bowler hat and navy scarf that he’d worn yesterday when he and Jimmy had walked through London and sat on the bench in the newly falling snow. He looked like a closed book, a night without the stars— and Jimmy couldn’t help thinking how he couldn’t have looked more different than he did when Jimmy had last seen him wearing the coat and scarf. The way Thomas looked, it was almost as though last night couldn’t possibly have happened— his stance crushed all possibility of it. And yet Jimmy knew that it _had_ happened, because his head ached with thoughts and his heart hurt with guilt and he knew that Thomas was only so blank when he was the inverse on the inside. But he didn’t know how to fix it.

 

Jimmy desperately wanted to reach out; to touch Thomas on the arm and tell him how sorry he was, apologise for being so thoughtlessly impulsive once again— but that would be acknowledging what had happened, and Jimmy wasn’t quite sure he could bring himself to do that. With Thomas, it was frequently better just to pretend the things that threatened their friendship with its beginning had never happened. It was safer.

 

But Jimmy couldn’t just let Thomas go without saying something, without making sure that Thomas was still _Thomas_ and that it’d all be alright again when he came back to Downton. There was so much Jimmy wanted to say to Thomas that he couldn’t think straight, that he couldn’t help blurting out something, even although his heart was thudding in his chest as though it wanted to escape.

 

“I— Mr. Barrow, I—”

 

Thomas turned around at the sound of his voice, and Jimmy’s heart suddenly felt so heavy that it crushed his lungs. Thomas’ eyes were impossibly grey. They somehow managed to look simultaneously impassive and as though they were made of shards of broken ice— and it hurt Jimmy to look at them. Thomas was looking at him the way he looked at everyone else, and Jimmy suddenly realised that he didn’t have any idea what he wanted to say. He could taste the familiar headiness of Thomas’ cologne in the air between them, and suddenly all he could think of was Thomas’ flushed cheeks and blown pupils and the feel of Thomas’ thigh under his shaking fingertips.

 

“Mr. Barrow—” Jimmy’s voice sounded uneven to his own ears, and his heart was thumping harder than ever, his cheeks burning the way Thomas’ had last night.

 

“Good morning,” Thomas said coolly, his tone painfully emotionless. The pain in his chest which Jimmy wasn’t sure was guilt or shame or fear or something infinitely harder to define became more acute.

 

“You— you’re going, then?” Jimmy blurted.

 

“Obviously,” Thomas replied evenly, his gaze still not quite meeting Jimmy’s. His voice was clipped and cold, and Jimmy felt as though he was seven years old and crying over a puddle of water in his cupped hands that had once been snow.

 

There was a pause. Jimmy stared helplessly at Thomas’ grey gaze, wishing again that he could understand it. The questions and answers hurtled faster round Jimmy’s head, making it throb painfully, and he knew that he couldn’t say anything else. He desperately wanted to convey _something_ — he wasn’t quite sure what; that he was sorry; that it was okay; that it didn’t matter. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to, because at the same time, it was none of those things— it was something Jimmy couldn’t explain at all.

 

“I— I’ll see you back at Downton, then, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy mumbled eventually, for loss of something better to say. He felt inexplicably lost.

 

Thomas nodded curtly and turned away, resuming his original stance. The muscle in his jaw was clenched tightly, making his cheekbones look sharper than ever. He was almost too still; like an animal frozen in fear.

 

It was surreal, Jimmy thought, to have been so close to answers— so close to _Thomas_ — less than twelve hours ago, and now to suddenly be further away than ever before. It was somehow worse than never having been close to the answers at all, because now it seemed even more important than it had done before.  

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The train back to Downton that afternoon was awful. Jimmy had strained his back lifting the luggage, and was now cramped into a tiny seat by the window of a packed, airless carriage. The motions of the train only exacerbated the uneasiness of his stomach, and the countryside that blurred by in a rush of frozen trees and painfully blank sky made the thoughts equally blurred inside his head. They were moving too fast for him to keep up with them, they all somehow blurred into each other, like the colours of paint seeping into each other and making colours that can’t be described.

 

Jimmy wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so out of his depth. Whenever he closed his eyes to try and block out the sickening blur of the countryside rushing alongside him, he could see Thomas. Thomas, standing with him in the music shop; Thomas, sitting and smoking beside him on the bench with lightly pink cheeks; Thomas, mending his jacket with the utmost care; Thomas, eyes half shut in a conflict of pain and pleasure. Grey eyes and sharp cheekbones and smoky words filled Jimmy’s mind utterly and completely. He’d never experienced anything quite like it before. It was just Thomas— just one, sole person— and yet he took up all the room inside Jimmy’s head until Jimmy felt as though it might explode.

 

He wished he could, but he just couldn’t stop mulling the last twenty four hours over in his aching mind. _I wish it was easier to be friends with you_ , Thomas had said quietly as they’d sat on the bench in the falling snow under the protection of the shivering poplar trees. More than ever, Jimmy wished that this was true. He wished that he could make things easier for Thomas, because he knew that he always, inexplicably, seemed to make them far more difficult than necessary with his thoughtless curiosity and impulsivity. And once again, he had done exactly that— but he had no idea why. It was as though when he was with Thomas, all conscious thought was erased from his head.  

 

Yet this time, it wasn’t just guilt at hurting Thomas that filled Jimmy’s thoughts— it was infinitely more than that. They were utterly inexplicable; colours that Jimmy couldn’t imagine seeing and words that he’d never heard. It was all brand new, all mixed together and jumbled up, and Jimmy desperately needed Thomas to figure it out— only Thomas the reason it was all jumbled up in the first place.

 

A part of him knew that it was illogical, but Jimmy still couldn’t help feeling that if he could just understand _Thomas_ , then everything else would make sense. It had felt like he almost understood last night, but then Thomas had pushed him away and Jimmy had woken up alone with answerless questions once more.

 

By nature, Jimmy was not a particularly observant person, simply because he wasn’t interested enough in other people to pay attention to all their little quirks and mannerisms— but with Thomas, every little word or movement seemed to hold such significance; every tiny little detail mattered, somehow.  It was like reading a murder mystery and he was trying to pick up all the clues before the last chapter. Jimmy knew how Thomas clenched his jaw when he wanted to say something but didn’t have the courage. He knew how Thomas’ gaze became more and more expressionless the more he needed to express something. He knew how Thomas’ mouth was slightly lopsided when he smiled genuinely.

 

And yet none of that helped. Jimmy had all the little clues, but somehow they didn’t help at all, because none of them fitted together. Everything about Thomas seemed to be contradictory. He was so carefully hidden away that no matter how hard Jimmy searched, he was constantly thrown off by the contrasting aspects of Thomas’ careful façade and the Thomas who’d drunk strawberry wine with Jimmy at the village fair.

 

Jimmy had never felt so completely and utterly confused in his life. All he knew was that somehow, for some inexplicable reason, nothing had ever been more important than understanding Thomas.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

By the time Jimmy arrived back at Downton, dark had fallen, and the sky overhead was punctured by stars that made the thick layer of frost on the driveway glitter. After helping take the luggage inside and serving tea, Jimmy was beginning to feel almost dizzy with exhaustion. He couldn’t even bring himself to pay attention to the thoughts anymore; instead, he just tried to ignore them and the splitting headache they were causing.

 

The seat opposite him at supper remained poignantly empty. Usually when Jimmy had been away for a couple of days, he found it reassuring to return home to Downton, but this time, it somehow seemed as foreign and austere as the train or the house in London. Jimmy had only in the past few days come to realise just how much he relied on Thomas’ presence; when he wasn’t there, it was almost like a different place. And Jimmy felt almost like a different person— the bored, impatient, unfeeling person he had been before Thomas had saved him that day in Thirsk. He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed to be friends with Thomas until it had happened— and now it almost physically hurt Jimmy to consider the possibility of it never having happened at all. 

 

“How was London then, Jimmy?” Mr. Moseley asked cheerfully, handing Jimmy a bowlful of stew and dragging Jimmy from his brooding thoughts.

 

“It was alright,” Jimmy shrugged, unsure of what else to say. He manufactured a smile and tried to push his untidy hair into submission.

 

“You still look awfully tired, James,” Mrs. Hughes remarked from the end of the table, scrutinising him with a slight frown on her face. “Are you sickening for something? I hope you aren’t catching that nasty cold that’s been going round.”

 

“I feel perfectly well, thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” Jimmy lied, taking a mouthful of stew even though he wasn’t really very hungry. His stomach was still churning from the motions of the train and the wine from the night before that had left a sour aftertaste in his mouth, no matter how many times he brushed his teeth.

 

“I do hope you and Mr. Barrow managed alright at the house in London with so much work,” Mrs. Hughes continued. “Mr. Carson and I very much appreciate you helping out, James, and we’ve decided that you should have the day off after tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” Jimmy replied, trying to sound grateful. He took another gulp of stew. Normally, he would have felt pleased at the prospect of a day off, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be happy about it; unless he somehow managed to get Thomas to come somewhere with him, it would just be another endless day of unanswered questions and frustration. Jimmy wasn’t sure how many more such days he could endure.

 

He lapsed into silence for the rest of the meal, and tried to block out the voices around him so that he could pretend he was sitting back in the room in London with Thomas, drinking wine, when nothing else had seemed to matter. Everything seemed so simple when he was with Thomas, and then when he wasn’t, it seemed infinitely more complicated.

 

Ivy cornered Jimmy after supper, when he was sitting in the chair by the fire Thomas usually occupied, staring into its amber depths as he smoked. He had hoped that the warmth of the fire might lull him into sleepiness, but despite his exhaustion, he still felt too wound-up to even consider sleep.

 

“You’ve barely spoken to me since you’ve got back!” she exclaimed, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. She didn’t look cross— she was smiling prettily, showing all her pearly white teeth, and it looked as though she’d applied more blusher. 

 

“I’m tired,” Jimmy replied honestly, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. A fleeting image of Thomas doing the same flashed through his mind, cheeks hollowed, eyes shut for a split second in the cold air. Jimmy swallowed uncomfortably, trying to concentrate on the flames flickering in the fireplace.

 

“Well, I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up,” Ivy said enthusiastically, pulling her chair a little closer to Jimmy’s. “I have a half day on the same day you have that day off Mrs. Hughes was talking about at supper. I was thinking that we could perhaps go to the pub again…? It was a lot of fun last time,” she smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly.

 

“I’m sorry, I think I already have plans,” Jimmy lied quickly, wishing that Ivy would go away. He wished that he could welcome her company and be distracted by it, but inexplicably, he never could.

 

“What plans?” Ivy frowned.

 

“I— Mr. Barrow and I are going for a walk,” Jimmy blurted, knocking ash into the fire from his cigarette.

 

Ivy’s frown deepened. “But— but after what happened on the walk home— I just thought—” she broke off, looking close to tears. Jimmy felt a mild pang of guilt. It suddenly struck him how peculiar it was that he felt so much guilt whenever he said something insensitive towards Thomas, and yet he barely felt much guilt at all towards Ivy, even though he knew he should probably feel more.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said insincerely. “But I’ve already given Mr. Barrow my word.”

 

“Are you really saying you’d prefer to spend time with him than with me?” Ivy frowned, looking perplexed. _Are you really saying you’d rather spend time with me than with a pretty girl?_ Thomas’ words echoed in Jimmy’s ear. He shook his head slightly, trying to shake them off. His thoughts were spinning. He threw his cigarette into the fire and stood up abruptly, stomach swirling uncomfortably again.

 

“Good night, Ivy,” Jimmy said more sharply than he’d meant to. He thought he heard her call after him, but he didn’t turn back.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Despite feeling so exhausted, Jimmy barely slept. He tossed and turned throughout the night, thoughts racing, and whatever small, fragmented fractions of sleep he did manage were fractured with troubling dreams that he couldn’t remember when he awoke, gasping and sweating in the silent air. He wasn’t sure whether he was dreading or looking forward to Thomas’ return— he desperately wanted to see the other man, desperately wanted for it all to make sense, for him to be able to ask questions and smoke and for it to all go back to normal. But simultaneously, he was afraid that when he saw Thomas, everything would have changed irreversibly.

 

Jimmy tossed and turned restlessly, thoughts of Thomas’ blank expression imprinted on the back of his eyelids so that he saw it every time he tried to close his eyes and fall asleep. Eventually, he resigned himself and got up. Even though it was early and he knew it would be deserted, Jimmy wasn’t quite sure he could face the stuffy airlessness of the servants’ hall, so he grabbed the half pack of cigarettes on his bedside table, pocketed his lighter, and slipped out into the yard.

 

The early morning air was misty and frozen with thick, icy grey which made the yard somehow seem airless too. Jimmy couldn’t quite face smoking alone in the spot he and Thomas usually stood before breakfast and after supper; he knew it would only aggravate the questions already churning tumultuously through his mind. So instead, he wandered out of the yard and into the back of the gardens. Strictly speaking, he probably wasn’t meant to be there, but it was far too early for anyone to notice, and the misty silence of the frozen grass and colourless dead flowers was somehow comforting.

 

Jimmy sat down on the little wall surrounding one of the flowerbeds that glittered with frost, and lit one of Thomas’ cigarettes, cold hands fumbling clumsily with the lighter. It made him think of Thomas’ dextrous hands mending the hemming of his jacket in the room of London, and Jimmy closed his eyes to try and diffuse the picture, wishing the image would fade as easily as the smoke into the icy morning mist. He took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs and thoughts to the brim until there was no room for anything else.

 

He was on his third cigarette and his hands were beginning to go numb when he vaguely became aware of someone else’s presence. He looked up in dread, expecting to see Ivy, but instead he saw Anna approaching. She came to a halt in front of him in the early morning mist, smiling slightly.

 

“You’re up awfully early,” she commented, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “I would have thought you’d have been tired out from all the travelling yesterday.”

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jimmy replied curtly, exhaling and watching the smoke disperse into the icy November mist.

 

“Oh, why’s that?” Anna asked, looking mildly concerned.

 

Jimmy just shook his head, taking another drag of the cigarette. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t find the words to begin to explain things to himself— let alone Anna.

 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Anna asked, and Jimmy shook his head in response without looking up from the frosty grass at his feet. He didn’t mind— it would distract him from his thoughts, and Anna was nice. He rarely spoke to her, but she was one of the few people besides Thomas that he didn’t mind.

 

There was a slight pause, and then Anna sat down on the wall beside him, pulling her coat more closely around herself. “You’ve been looking tired since before you left for London. And if you were sickening for something, you’d have got it by now,” she said gently. “Is everything alright, Jimmy?”

 

“I— I just—” Jimmy broke off, shaking his head. His hands were shaking slightly as he brought his cigarette up to his lips again, and he could feel a slight tightness in his throat. “I’m not a good person,” he blurted out, not realising how much it had been bothering him until the words were in the frosty morning air around them. “And I— I don’t understand why people seem to think I’m better than I really am.”

 

“I thought you were one of the people who thought that,” Anna remarked teasingly, but her eyes were still full of sympathy. Jimmy tried to manufacture a smile, but it didn’t quite work and to his horror, he suddenly found himself swallowing back tears.

 

“Oh, Jimmy,” Anna said gently, touching him on the arm. Her warm brown eyes were brimming with sympathy.

 

“I— I never really gave it much thought before,” Jimmy said shakily, taking another drag of the cigarette to try and diffuse the lump in his throat. “But now I just can’t see why anyone would like me. I’m so _thoughtless_ , Anna.”

 

“Jimmy, no one is perfect,” Anna smiled kindly.

 

“Not even you and Mr. Bates?” Jimmy glanced at her, catching a fleeting glimpse of warm brown eyes that couldn’t be more different from Thomas’.

 

“Not even me and Mr. Bates,” Anna smiled.

 

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and Jimmy finished his cigarette. He flicked it to the grass and pulled out another, offering Anna the box.

 

“No thanks,” she shook her head. “Have you smoked all of those already this morning?”

 

“It was already half empty,” Jimmy replied dully, putting the fresh cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

 

“Still, that’s a fair few. You watch out you don’t drown yourself in smoke,” Anna remarked lightly.

 

“I never used to smoke much,” Jimmy said suddenly, frowning.

 

“I imagine that’s Thomas’ influence.” Anna raised her eyebrows knowingly.

 

“He told me that smoking’s easier than small talk,” Jimmy said, exhaling slowly.

 

Anna smiled slightly. “He’s probably right.”

 

“I’ve never had a friend like Thomas before,” Jimmy admitted uncomfortably, tapping ash to the frozen grass at his feet and watching the way the burning ashes were extinguished by the frost. “I’ve never really had a friend before Thomas, come to that.”

 

“I imagine that he’d say the same about you,” Anna smiled. “I still can’t quite get over seeing Thomas trusting someone.”

 

Jimmy frowned, a pang of guilt shooting through him at the thought. Did Thomas really trust him? Jimmy suddenly felt awful, because Thomas shouldn’t trust him, not when Jimmy hurt him so thoughtlessly all the time. Why on earth would Thomas trust him, Jimmy— probably the least trustworthy person there was in the house besides Thomas himself? But then Jimmy supposed it was the same question for him— why had he ended up becoming closest to the person who was most far away?

 

“Do you ever wonder why people become friends?” Jimmy asked suddenly, looking round at Anna in the bitterly cold early morning mist.

 

“I’m not sure, Jimmy,” Anna said gently.

 

“But why did I become friends with Thomas? Why am I friends with him when I’ve never wanted to be friends with anyone else?” Jimmy pressed urgently, suddenly needing answers. His heart was thumping in his chest again and the cigarette smoke hurt his lungs.

 

“I don’t know,” Anna repeated softly. “Sometimes, Jimmy, the best things are the ones which you can’t explain.”

 

Jimmy stopped, staring at her.

 

“Now, I must get started on Lady Mary’s breakfast things,” Anna said, her tone becoming more brisk. She stood up, smiling at Jimmy. “I do hope you start to feel a little more like yourself soon. And you’re always welcome to speak to me if you feel it would help.”

 

“Thank you,” Jimmy mumbled around his cigarette. He looked up fleetingly. “Anna— I mean it.”

 

Anna smiled warmly. “You’re welcome. And I wouldn’t worry too much. Usually these things have a way of working themselves out sooner than you might expect.”

 

Jimmy watched her walking away, and wished fervently that she was right.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

As the hours grew closer and closer to Thomas’ return, Jimmy found himself growing more and more agitated. He could barely think straight, and went from feeling impatient for Thomas’ arrival to dreading it in a matter of seconds. Knowing Thomas was like having a secret that no one else knew, and Jimmy felt oddly privileged as well as conflicted. All day, his head ached with questions and he felt jittery and agitated as though he was waiting for something he’d been looking forward to for months. When Lord Grantham returned halfway through dinner— meaning that Thomas had arrived too— Jimmy managed to knock over a tray of starters, and accidentally served the desserts in the wrong order.

 

By the time he finished, he was dreading going downstairs. The thoughts were rushing round his head so fast it was as though they were trying to race his heart, and Jimmy felt as though he wanted to turn tail and run. He lingered upstairs for as long as possible, pretending to sort through the dishes in the upstairs pantry, until Mr. Carson’s figure loomed in the doorway.

 

“Why on earth are you loitering about up here, James?” Mr. Carson frowned crossly. “Supper is ready.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Carson,” Jimmy swallowed uncomfortably, setting down the dishes and steeling himself for a moment before following Mr. Carson down the stairs to the servants’ hall.

 

Thomas was sitting in his usual seat, as though he’d never been away. He didn’t look up when Jimmy sat down opposite him, merely continued to eat steadily, his face carefully expressionless. But Jimmy thought that he looked paler than usual, and the dark circles which had shadowed his grey eyes in London had deepened, giving his face a slightly gaunt look. Jimmy felt vaguely gratified that he hadn’t been the only one having sleepless nights, and simultaneously guilty for probably being the cause.

 

But what struck him most was the overwhelming sense of _relief_ he felt at the sight of the other man, so intense that it was almost tangible. He knew that he’d wanted to see Thomas, but he hadn’t realised quite how much he’d needed to until that moment. It was just how he’d never realised how much he needed to be friends with Thomas until it had happened.

 

“I— uh— Hullo, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said awkwardly, desperate to say something.

 

Thomas looked up, grey eyes cool and far-away, and Jimmy felt his heart stumble in his chest, as though it had lost its footing.

 

“Evening, Jimmy,” he replied evenly. His gaze was cautious and measured, but it lingered on Jimmy for a split second longer than usual before he dropped his gaze back to his plate. His expression, despite being as unreadable as ever, was less rigidly impassive than it had been the morning he’d left London, which Jimmy found distinctly reassuring.

 

“Did— did you have a good journey?” Jimmy asked. He hated making small talk, and he knew that Thomas hated it even more, but sometimes, he thought suddenly, communication wasn’t just about the words themselves. He didn’t care what he said to Thomas, he just wanted to talk to him.

 

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Thomas replied smoothly. He finished his dinner and set his knife and fork together, standing up. Jimmy’s stomach plummeted uncomfortably. “Please excuse me,” he said to Mrs. Hughes. “I must unpack.”

 

“Of course,” Mrs. Hughes replied, smiling slightly. “It’s nice to have you back, Mr. Barrow.”

 

Thomas manufactured a smile before carefully exiting the room. Jimmy stood up suddenly, heart thudding.

 

“What is it, James?” Mr. Carson sighed.

 

“Please may I be excused, Mr. Carson?” Jimmy asked anxiously.

 

“Why?” Mr. Carson demanded. “You haven’t finished your meal.”

 

“I— I don’t feel very well,” Jimmy lied.

 

Mr. Carson frowned. “Hm. You have been looking a little under the weather lately. Would you like Ivy to bring you up a tray?”

 

“No, no, I’ll be perfectly fine thank you, Mr. Carson,” Jimmy insisted, and hurried from the room before Mr. Carson could say anything else.

 

Jimmy wasn’t really sure why he needed to see Thomas so urgently; all he knew was that he couldn’t possibly rest until he had. He felt exhausted from lack of sleep and incessant thoughts, but his heart thumped as he paused for a moment outside Thomas’ door, feeling suddenly as though it was months before and he was about to knock on Thomas’ door and thank him for saving Jimmy at Thirsk fair.

 

He took a deep breath, feeling just as nervous as he had done on that occasion, and tentatively knocked on the door. The silence in the hallway suddenly seemed overwhelming. Jimmy swallowed uncomfortably, waiting for the door to open.

 

When it did, Thomas’ face was not stained with ugly yellow and purple bruises or bloodied cuts. It was drawn and pale, and his grey eyes reflected mild surprise.

 

 “Jimmy,” he raised his eyebrows, his expression carefully neutral.

 

“Please may I come in, Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy asked awkwardly.

 

Thomas hesitated for a second, and then opened the door wider to let Jimmy in. He’d taken off his jacket and tie and was just in his trousers and pale blue shirt, which made the contrast of his pale skin and inky black hair stand out more than ever. His lips were red, as though they were still stained with the wine Jimmy had drunk with him two nights ago. Jimmy felt as though his lips were still stained from it.

 

“What did you want?” Thomas asked coolly, jerking Jimmy from his thoughts. He was looking expectantly at Jimmy, expression cautious, as if he couldn’t read Jimmy and better than Jimmy could read him any more.

 

“I— I just—” Jimmy broke off. He wanted to talk about London, he wanted to talk about the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone and that crushed all coherency from his mind, he wanted to talk about his conversation with Anna, but suddenly, he didn’t know how. “I— I wondered if you were too tired for questions,” he said instead.

 

Something in Thomas’ expression softened slightly, as though the familiarity of the game lessened the tension between them.

 

“Will you ever get fed up with questions?” he asked coolly, but the smallest of smiles was pulling at the corner of his mouth.

 

“You ask plenty of them yourself,” Jimmy pointed out, relaxing ever so slightly, even though they were both standing a foot apart, stances more tense than they would have been serving at a table. Jimmy suddenly thought that the questions game was almost like small talk, hiding what really needed to be discussed. He knew that by asking questions, it would be almost as though London hadn’t happened, as though they had just gone back to normal— and perhaps that was what Thomas wanted. Jimmy was happy to do what ever it was that was.

 

“Well, I suppose one wouldn’t hurt,” Thomas replied evenly after a moment, pulling a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and sitting down on his bed.

 

“How was York?” Jimmy asked, a sense of great relief washing over him. He felt as though he could breathe properly for the first time since he’d woken up alone in London with a racing heart and too many questions.

 

“That’s your question of the day?” Thomas asked, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“No,” Jimmy admitted, pulling up the chair from Thomas’ desk and sitting opposite him the way they tended to if they were talking or playing cards late at night. “Give me a few moments to think of a proper one.”

 

“York was the same as ever,” Thomas replied impassively, exhaling smoke. It suddenly felt as though it was just another night, as though Jimmy hadn’t spent the past two days consumed by worry. The thoughts still swirled through Jimmy’s mind, unreadable and overwhelming, but they somehow didn’t seem quite so important now that he was sitting with Thomas. “Did anything interesting happen here?”

 

“No,” Jimmy replied, trying not to think of how horrible the past couple of days had been. “Ivy keeps bothering me.”

 

Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly, taking a drag of his cigarette.

 

“Tell me more about York,” Jimmy said, pushing a hand through his blonde hair and shifting on the chair so that he was sitting cross-legged.

 

Thomas shrugged. “Lord Grantham was visiting some Duke who wants to marry Lady Mary.”

 

“Do you think she’s ever loved any of them?” Jimmy frowned, watching Thomas take another drag of his cigarette. “Apart from Mr. Crawley, I mean. It must be strange to be engaged to someone you couldn’t care less about.”

 

“Perhaps it would be an advantage,” Thomas said coolly.

 

“To marry someone you don’t love?” Jimmy frowned in confusion.

 

“Have you ever been in love?” Thomas asked quietly, and Jimmy suddenly felt as though his heart had stopped. He looked up to find Thomas’ intent grey gaze on him, suddenly not unreadable at all, but painfully, blazingly sincere. “That can be my question for today,” he added softly. “I’m not sure I can quite picture it.”

 

“I— I’m not sure,” Jimmy frowned, the words tasting sour in his mouth, as if they were a lie.

 

“I think you’d know,” Thomas said, almost sadly. His grey eyes were distant, and Jimmy couldn’t reach them.  

 

“How did you know?” Jimmy asked before he could regret it. His heart was thumping in his chest, but he couldn’t take the words back. “That can be _my_ question.”

 

Thomas exhaled slowly, expression still far away. “That would be like asking you how you know you’re hungry, or how you know you’re cold, or how you know you’re sad.” His gaze flickered to capture Jimmy’s, grey and inscrutable and suddenly very much right there in the moment. “You just _know_ , Jimmy.”

 

“That’s not a proper answer,” Jimmy protested, feeling frustrated. “I mean, what does it feel like? How do you know that it’s love and not just— not just attraction?”

 

Thomas’ eyes were impossibly grey as he regarded Jimmy closely, exhaling smoke and clouding the air between them. “It’s a feeling you know you couldn’t possibly feel towards anyone or anything else. It’s utterly unique, and something you’ve never felt before. It’s wonderful and awful and incomprehensible all at once, and sometimes it’s as though it’s too big to feel. There’s no room in your mind for anything else. And when you first realise, it’s terrifying, because you know that nothing will be the same again, no matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise.”

 

“Being love is like being scared,” Jimmy said slowly, echoing Thomas’ words from weeks before, and Thomas smiled wryly, taking another drag of his cigarette.

 

“Why isn’t it awful, then?” Jimmy frowned in confusion.

 

“Who said that it wasn’t?” Thomas remarked coolly, but there was a subtly amused twinkle in his eye.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Jimmy grinned, kicking Thomas with his foot. He looked up properly, and caught sight of Thomas grinning too— a proper, sincere smile that split across his features and made his eyes light up. It was one of those smiles that made Jimmy feel as though he was privileged to have caused it and that made him smile back so much that his cheeks hurt. It made Thomas look a world apart from the cold, careful façade he usually maintained. It reminded Jimmy of the times they’d played duets on the piano or sitting on the bench in the snowy London park or walking home under the stars and drinking strawberry wine.

 

“I’m glad to have you back, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said, without thinking— and then thought that perhaps he shouldn’t have said it.

 

But Thomas merely raised his eyebrows coolly. “I suppose you ran out of cigarettes.”

 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jimmy replied, grinning— and Thomas smiled back again, as though he knew perfectly well that Jimmy couldn’t care less whether or not Thomas brought cigarettes with him. It felt almost as though the remaining tension between them had melted, and Jimmy felt another wave of relief wash over him. The questions still rushed round his head and his heart was still heavy with guilt for hurting Thomas, but when Thomas was right there, smoking lazily, Jimmy could just forget it all for a few moments.

 

For a while, they smoked in silence. Thomas flicked idly through the newspaper from his suitcase, and Jimmy let the warm, sleepy feeling gradually wash over him for the first time since he’d left London.

 

“Go to bed, Jimmy,” Thomas said softly, breaking the silence as the clock on his dresser chimed eleven. “You’re practically asleep already.”

 

It wasn’t like the time that he’d told Jimmy to go to bed a few nights before, when he was breathing sharply and Jimmy could feel the blood pounding through him; it was soft and probably more affectionate than Thomas had meant it to be, because his jaw clenched slightly after he’d said it.

 

“Alright, alright,” Jimmy mumbled, staggering up and stubbing his cigarette out in the ash tray.

 

“Good night,” Thomas smiled slightly at Jimmy’s unsteady movements. Jimmy thought that Thomas probably didn’t realise that his expression was less guarded than usual, and the smile was soft and genuine and full of warmth, rather than caution. It made Jimmy feel a little like the way he’d felt that night in London.

 

“Good night, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy replied sleepily. “Oh, wait,” he paused by the door and turned around, pushing his tousled golden hair out of his eyes as he looked at Thomas. “Your half day tomorrow. I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk? Mrs. Hughes has given me the day off.”

 

“Oh?” Thomas raised his eyebrows, stubbing out his own cigarette in the ash tray and exhaling his last lungful of smoke through his nostrils. “Where would we be going?”

 

Jimmy shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just felt like getting some fresh air.”

 

“I suppose I could,” Thomas replied, considering.

 

“Please do, Mr. Barrow. We can ask each other questions,” Jimmy said hopefully.

 

“You say that as if it will persuade me,” Thomas remarked, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“Won’t it?” Jimmy grinned.

 

Thomas smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Perhaps.” He stood up, picking up the ash tray and tipping it into the bin. “But doesn’t Ivy want you to take her out?”

 

“Yes,” Jimmy replied simply. “But I don’t.”

 

Thomas’ gaze lingered on Jimmy for a moment, and it somehow reminded Jimmy of the time he’d told Thomas why he was friends with him. But then Thomas cleared his throat and the expression faded, replaced by his usual inscrutable one.

 

“Alright, then,” Thomas replied coolly, but Jimmy could see the slight flush of his pale cheeks.

 

Jimmy grinned triumphantly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night, Mr. Barrow.”

 

He was still grinning by the time he closed his bedroom door behind him and flopped down onto his bed, heart racing as though he’d run all the way from London. Everything was rushing round and round his head and his thoughts were more tangled than ever, but it didn’t seem to matter quite so much any more. Jimmy suddenly thought that perhaps, being friends with Thomas was more important than finding answers. For now, at least.

 

Outside the darkened glass of Jimmy’s bedroom window, a light drizzle was falling on the frozen ground, and the snow was beginning to melt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who commented/left kudos/messages on the last chapter, I'm just totally blown away by the incredible support on this story! It means more to me than I can express, thank you all so so much. 
> 
> Thankfully this update is more on time than the last one... I hope you enjoyed it! I know not a lot happened, but trust me, the next one will make up for it... Thank you so much for reading, and as always, I'd love to hear what you thought about what's happening in it! Hope you all had lovely Christmases <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to take in every little mark and line on Thomas’ face, every little imperfection, and map them out like constellations to try and make sense of them the way people do with things that are too impossibly big for them to understand.

Jimmy couldn’t fall asleep for hours. He lay on his back, staring up wonderingly at the darkened ceiling of his room, as though it was the night’s sky strewn with endless and unreadable stars. Although his eyes ached with exhaustion, he didn’t want to fall asleep. He was afraid that if he did, he’d forget how wonderful he felt; Jimmy wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so completely and inexplicably wonderful before in his life.

 

Frail moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtain, and even although it had been hours since he’d said goodnight to Thomas, he could still detect the faint scent of cigarettes and cologne whenever he took a breath. Every time he did so, another thrill of excited anticipation shot through him, and questions span faster still round his head, making him feel almost dizzy at the prospect of asking them.

 

He was spending tomorrow with Thomas. All day, away from Downton, with all the questions in the world. It was a kind of happiness he’d never felt before in his life; it was elated and full of hope and completely overwhelming all at once, so completely all-consuming that it felt as though there was too much for his body and soul to possibly contain— and yet it still yearned desperately for something more. Everything else just seemed so wonderfully, gloriously irrelevant, as Jimmy lay there with questions embellishing his thoughts like star-clusters which were too far away to understand but beautiful to look at. 

 

Apart from the faint hiss of drizzle against the window, the night was silent. Jimmy vaguely wondered if Thomas was lying awake listening to the silence too— if he was lying awake the way Jimmy was, even though his head was heavy with tiredness and he hadn’t slept properly for days. What did Thomas think about when he couldn’t sleep? Jimmy wondered if he got up and sat at his desk and read, or if he lay in bed with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling the way Jimmy did. Was he staring at the page of a novel, or the ceiling, or the spot on the floor where Jimmy had sat hours before?

 

 _You just know, Jimmy_ , Thomas had said when Jimmy asked how he knew he was in love. How wonderful, Jimmy thought fleetingly, to just _know_ something— with no reason or explanation. He’d never just known something in his life.

 

Even though he was lying perfectly still, Jimmy felt as though the world around him was spinning softly in the darkness, tilted on its axis. He felt as though he was eight years old and on the swings at the fairground; he was filled with that same, glorious swooping feeling in his stomach which was both wonderful and exhilaratingly terrifying at the same time. Lying there, gazing up at the ceiling, Jimmy didn’t even care why he was so happy. It just felt as though the elation had been gradually building up over a long period of time and he hadn’t noticed it until it was almost too much to contain. Perhaps it was simply the feeling that finally, _finally_ , he was close to answers.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

Despite having barely slept, Jimmy somehow didn’t feel tired as he waited impatiently in the courtyard for Thomas just after midday. The snow was thin and half-frozen on the cobbled ground, and Jimmy’s breath curled up into the grey air as though he’d taken a drag of one of Thomas’ cigarettes. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t help feeling there was something inexplicably important about today.

 

The sky was heavy with rain that threatened to melt the fragile snow which remained, and the stark trees in the fields were coated in frost; there wasn’t anything particularly special about it to the outside eye— but Jimmy couldn’t help thinking that there was something wonderfully, inexplicably _different_ in the icy November air.

 

The prospect of spending the day with Thomas and getting to ask him questions away from Downton made Jimmy both excited and inexplicably nervous all at once. He desperately wanted to play the piano or smoke, just to have something to do with his hands, because they felt uncomfortably empty at his sides— but he didn’t want to risk going back inside in case he missed Thomas.

 

Jimmy couldn’t remember ever having felt so many things at once; for a long time he hadn’t been used to feeling much at all, only things which were easily contained and completely his own. But this was different— it was so overpowering that Jimmy felt as though it didn’t just belong to him anymore; it was completely uncontainable. He was exhausted from lack of sleep and full of agitated excitement and complete calm all at once. It was like it was brilliant sunshine and pouring rain and bitter snow all at once, and Jimmy didn’t know whether he was elated or in the depths of confusion. He fidgeted restlessly, unable to remain motionless. 

 

Perhaps it was just relief at having made everything alright with Thomas after London— but it felt as though it was more than that. It was as though Jimmy was on the precipice of knowing _everything_ , and the wait was so close that it was almost unbearable. Fear wasn’t what gripped him at the prospect of falling from the precipice; it was elation, because he somehow felt that it had all been leading up to the wonderful feeling of freefalling through the air. 

 

 _Happiness isn’t really happiness because it’s so fleeting_ , Thomas had told him as they’d walked back from the autumn fair along the darkened lane to Downton, drinking strawberry wine all those nights ago. Jimmy couldn’t help thinking that now, perhaps the reason happiness could be so completely all-consuming, so utterly wonderful, was because it _was_ fleeting.

 

The noise of the yard door snapping shut made Jimmy whirl round, heart thudding, to see Thomas standing in front of him, wearing the blue scarf and dark coat he’d worn in London. He pulled his lighter from his pocket with gloved hands, breath clouding the icy grey air between them as though he’d lit and imaginary cigarette already.

 

“Afternoon, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said, suddenly unable to contain a smile. After having spent morning— and most of the night— in such agitated anticipation, he suddenly felt strangely calm.

 

Thomas placed a fresh cigarette between his lips and flared the lighter, taking a drag of the cigarette and exhaling slowly. 

 

“Afternoon,” he replied coolly, sliding the lighter back into his coat pocket.

 

He glanced up briefly, meeting Jimmy’s gaze in a flash of piercing grey, and Jimmy suddenly saw how tired the other man looked. His complexion was almost completely colourless, and there were dark, bruising shadows under his bloodshot eyes. The grey in them stood out, bleakly poignant, and his face was a pained mask of impassivity. Jimmy’s excitement curdled somewhere in his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. He’d never seen Thomas look so exhausted; Thomas so rarely let any personal feeling show above the surface, and so for anything to be visible on the exterior revealed how profound it was.

 

“Are we just planning to stand in the courtyard all day?” Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly, blowing smoke in Jimmy’s direction and startling him out of his thoughts. His eyes didn’t quite meet Jimmy’s, but remained firmly fixed on the murky horizon as if he knew Jimmy could see what he didn’t want him to. 

 

“No— no, of course,” Jimmy said, frowning slightly as he forced himself to look away from Thomas’ swollen eyes and exhausted pallor. He desperately wanted to ask Thomas about it— but he knew that it would almost certainly only put Thomas’ guard up, and that was the exact opposite of what Jimmy wanted to do. He decided to save the question for later, in the hope that the further they walked from Downton, the more relaxed Thomas would become just as he’d been in London.

 

“Where are we going, then?” Thomas asked as they began to walk slowly out of the courtyard, footsteps crunching on the scattering of snow. He took another drag of the cigarette, and then offered it to Jimmy, moving his hand away instantly so that there was barely a split second of contact.

 

“Do we have to know where we’re going?” Jimmy countered, taking the cigarette and putting it to his lips. He could feel the lingering warmth from where Thomas’ slightly chapped lips had been moments before, and the smoke suddenly stung his lungs.

 

Thomas’ gaze lingered on Jimmy’s for a moment, colourless and inscrutable. “I suppose not,” he conceded, taking the cigarette back. Jimmy felt the brush of leather against his fingertips this time, and Thomas’ arm nudged against his for a moment before the latter stepped away carefully and Jimmy’s right side suddenly felt cold.

 

They walked in silence for a while as they made their way down the snowy lane away from Downton, smoking companionably. The fields that stretched out in front of them were white and grey with mottled, frozen snow, and the sky was low and bitterly grey. Jimmy could feel the cold burning his cheeks and watched the way it pinched Thomas’ colourless complexion as they walked. Even with the telling shadows under his grey eyes and the cold stinging his cheeks, Thomas still managed to look completely unreadable. Fleetingly, Jimmy wondered whether the other man had always been so inscrutable, or whether it was a habit he’d acquired over the years like smoking or nail-biting. 

 

Jimmy couldn’t quite imagine anyone being so completely unreadable as a child. Then he remembered what Thomas had told him about his friendship with Charlie McArthur, and thought that perhaps, Thomas had never needed to be inscrutable before that. He wished he’d known Thomas then, wished he’d known him when Thomas had worn his heart on his sleeve. He wished that Thomas was still like that— but he supposed it was easier for him not to be. All the same, Jimmy couldn’t help desperately wanting to see the reverse more than ever.

 

He couldn’t explain why, but Jimmy somehow felt as though he was closer to seeing Thomas that way than he ever had been. Perhaps it was the combination of answers which he’d accumulated over the past few weeks; perhaps it was the potent memory of Thomas’ completely unguarded expression in London when Jimmy was sat so close he could taste the alcohol on the other man’s breath and feel the warmth of his thigh under his fingertips; perhaps it was simply the knowledge that Thomas somehow mattered more anything had before.

 

Jimmy wasn’t quite sure what it was. It was inexplicable— but it was inexplicably wonderful, and he couldn’t help smiling slightly as they walked, the icy air stinging their cheeks and ruffling their hair. He felt as though he was on the brink of understanding Thomas; on the brink of something wonderful.

 

“You look restless,” Thomas remarked as they turned out of the lane and started across one of the snowy fields. His tone was as measured as ever, but there was the smallest hint of amusement in his tired grey eyes as he glanced over at Jimmy.

 

Jimmy grinned, swinging the wicker basket of food in his hands. “I’m just happy,” he replied half-truthfully. He _was_ happy; but he was also full of concern at the dark circles shadowing Thomas’ eyes.

 

“Why?” Thomas asked, the glittering colourlessness of the snow around them making his eyes look almost blue as they surveyed Jimmy suspiciously. He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

 

“Do I need a reason?” Jimmy retorted, deftly taking one before Thomas could swipe his hand away.

 

“There usually is one,” Thomas replied, raising his eyebrows slightly. He put a cigarette between his lips and paused for a moment, lighting it. “I suppose you want me to light that stolen one too?”

 

“It’s not stolen,” Jimmy protested, grinning. “But yes please.”

 

Thomas rolled his eyes slightly, but there was a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Even with the sincerity of it, Jimmy couldn’t help thinking how exhausted the other man looked— he looked as though he hadn’t slept for days or had endured tortured dreams for nights on end. The dark circles shadowing his impossibly grey eyes were more prominent than Jimmy had ever seen them before, and he knew that Thomas frequently stayed up late reading or mending.

 

“You look so tired, Thomas,” Jimmy said suddenly, without thinking— and then felt a streak of panic. Thomas’ smile froze where it was on his face, and he clenched his jaw, exhaling smoke through his nostrils into the bitterly cold air. Jimmy’s heart was suddenly beating very fast, as though he was treading on thin ice which was in danger of shattering any minute. “Mr. Barrow— I mean… you just look as though the travelling has tired you out the last few days,” Jimmy corrected himself hastily, but then frowned, because it wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. He knew that Thomas’ exhaustion had nothing to do with travelling— apart from anything else, it had worsened since he had returned.

 

“I’m perfectly well, thank you,” Thomas said in an icily impassive tone. The snow felt colder than it had a moment before under Jimmy’s feet as they crossed the frozen field towards the river bank, and Thomas’ eyes were determinedly on the horizon, refusing to meet Jimmy’s gaze. His jaw was clenched tightly, as though he was trying to stifle his own words. It made Jimmy feel awful, to the extent that he couldn’t contain himself any further. The more he knew Thomas, the harder it was to ignore him.

 

“Thomas… you’re _not_ ,” Jimmy whispered, grabbing Thomas’ wrist and pulling them both to a halt. Thomas’ grey eyes blazed, as though they were trying to burn from ice to fire, and the cigarette went limp in the hand that Jimmy had grabbed. The wintry Yorkshire countryside suddenly seemed overwhelmingly quiet.

 

“It’s Mr. Barrow to you,” he said in strained tones, eyes flickering uncomfortably to where Jimmy’s hand was clamped round his wrist. Jimmy swallowed and loosened his grip slightly, feeling full of guilt. His heart was hammering in his chest, hot and real in comparison to the frozen branches of the trees overhead and the snowy ground.

 

“We’re not at Downton now,” Jimmy protested— but he let go of Thomas’ wrist, dropping his hand to his side and suddenly feeling humiliated. His cheeks were burning as though the cold had stung them permanently. He ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barrow. I was only concerned for you. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

 

“I’ve told you before,” Thomas said bitterly, as they began to walk again slowly across the frozen grass. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

 

Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped and fell silent, staring at the snowy ground in front of them as they walked. They were close enough to the river to be able to hear the icy burble of water travelling downstream, and the berries on the trees running alongside the bank were rich, dark red, like wine. Overhead, the sky was pregnant with cold rain, and the air between them felt imminent with questions whose answers were painfully obvious. Jimmy desperately wanted to pursue the matter, but he could see the discomfort etched so clearly into Thomas’ usually impassive features that he didn’t want to make things worse.

 

He never wanted to cause Thomas pain, and yet it was horribly ironic, because he seemed to be the only one who could. If anyone else was unkind to him, Thomas just replied scathingly and didn’t seem to let it bother him— but so often, when Jimmy said something that was too close to the bone, he could visibly see it wounding the other man. As ever, Jimmy wished that he could go back and erase the words he’d just spoken, blow them out like a candle— but he couldn’t, so he searched desperately for something else to say to cover up the awkwardness that hung more heavily in the air between them than the icy grey cloud.

 

“I— I was talking to Anna yesterday,” Jimmy said eventually, not quite daring to look up at Thomas. He felt as though he was treading on thin ice, and so desperately wanted today to be perfect; for Thomas to be relaxed and free the way he had been in London when they’d gone to the music shop and sat on the bench in the snow and drunk wine in the early hours of the morning. It was the closest Jimmy had ever felt to understanding him.

 

“And how was the delightful Mrs. Bates?” Thomas asked coldly, smoke curling round his words.

 

“Don’t you like Anna?” Jimmy frowned, glancing up and surveying the other man’s impassive expression. It only seemed intensified by the coldness of their surroundings and the icy air that stung Jimmy’s cheeks, as though Thomas was made of ice.

 

“Do I like anyone?” Thomas raised his eyebrows questioningly.

 

“You like me,” Jimmy pointed out, without thinking.

 

“That’s not the same,” Thomas said tightly, casting his cigarette to the ground. His grey eyes were pained.

 

“Well, anyway, I don’t mind Anna,” Jimmy carried on, heart thumping guiltily at his own carelessness. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Thomas’ gaze. “And she was awfully nice to me yesterday when I was feeling blue.”

 

“What was wrong?” Thomas frowned, grey eyes full of concern. The shadows round them made his expression look almost haunted, and Jimmy felt a fresh pang of guilt.

 

“I couldn’t rightly say,” Jimmy replied honestly, considering. It fleetingly struck him how little he seemed to know about himself these days— it felt as though he was closer to understanding Thomas than to understanding himself. It somehow felt as though that mattered more. “But Anna distracted me. She was talking about you.”

 

“I dread to think what was said,” Thomas said dryly, elevating his eyebrows. 

 

“She only said how nice it was to see you being friends with someone,” Jimmy said, watching Thomas’ expression closely. “Do— do you ever wonder why people become friends, Mr. Barrow?”

 

“Why do you ask?” Thomas asked, a flicker of surprise crossing his composure for a moment before fading like an ellipsis.

 

“It’s just— as I said, I’ve never had a friend before, really. Not a proper one. I just wondered why out of everyone, I wanted to be friends with you,” Jimmy said, almost to himself. He stared at the river rushing alongside them, half-frozen and unfathomably grey under the bitter rainclouds overhead. “Anna told me that the best things are those which you can’t explain.”

 

“She’s probably right,” Thomas said quietly.

 

“But don’t you wonder, sometimes?” Jimmy persisted earnestly.

 

Something in Thomas’ expression flickered slightly, and to Jimmy’s surprise, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s because no one else will put up with all your questions,” he replied jokingly. Jimmy thought that he’d probably intended the comment to be icier, but it was full of a warmth that made Jimmy’s cheeks flame, and the shadows under Thomas’ eyes suddenly didn’t seem quite so prominent. 

 

“Well, you’re the one who brought them up…” Jimmy grinned. They’d come to a halt by the river, which burbled coldly against its frozen banks.

 

Thomas shook his head slightly, but he was smiling more widely— the smile that split across his features and made him look as though he’d never been unhappy in his life. It never ceased to strike Jimmy how unexpected Thomas was; he spent so much of his life wearing such a coldly unreadable expression— and then he could smile in a way which was almost painfully open and full of hopeful happiness. Jimmy somehow felt as though he had earned the right to smile himself when he caused Thomas to smile like that. All his anxieties about upsetting Thomas all melted away in a heartbeat.

 

“Go on then. The inescapable questions,” Thomas sighed, but he was still smiling. Even though his face was still pale and drawn with tiredness, his grey eyes glittered, managing to look almost blue against the snowy scenery. Jimmy could taste a hint of the heady scent of Thomas’ cologne, and it was only then that he realised he was standing quite so close to the other man and that his heart was pounding in his chest as though he was afraid— and yet he felt full of incomprehensible happiness.

 

“What do you say we ask as many questions as we can think of today?” Jimmy suggested hopefully.

 

“I thought the deal was one question a day?” Thomas raised his eyebrows, but all his cool impassivity had melted. His black hair was ruffled by the wind, his cheeks stung pink as they meandered across the snowy field, and he looked a world apart from the pale, drawn man who’d met Jimmy in the courtyard an hour or so earlier. He looked sincere; tentatively and uncertainly real. He looked more real than Jimmy had ever known him to be, even in London.

 

“Well, we missed some what with you being in York,” Jimmy pointed out. “And I thought we could change things a little, seeing as it’s a day off.”

 

Thomas hesitated for a moment, and then shook his head slightly in resignation. “I suppose I don’t see why not this once. You can start.”

 

Jimmy grinned, ducking his head a little and suddenly feeling too exposed under the almost tangible warmth of Thomas’ gaze. When Thomas smiled at Jimmy like this, it was so full of affection that Jimmy could almost feel the weight of it when he met Thomas’ gaze. It made his heart flutter faster in his chest, and the swooping sensation in his stomach intensify so much Jimmy felt dizzy.

 

“Will you play duets with me when we get back?” Jimmy asked, suddenly feeling slightly breathless, even though they were walking relatively slowly across the snowy field, the ice crunching beneath their footsteps.

 

“That’s not like your usual questions,” Thomas remarked, smiling slightly.

 

“What do you mean?” Jimmy frowned.

 

“It’s easy to answer,” Thomas said wryly, amusement glittering in his eyes.

 

“So answer it,” Jimmy challenged, meeting Thomas’ gaze and somehow not being able to let go. He suddenly felt as though all the air had been knocked out of him, just as he’d felt when he’d been punched after the fair before Thomas had come and saved him— only it wasn’t entirely unpleasant this time.

 

“Fine. If you really want me to,” Thomas replied, standing back a little. He looked across at the river, his breath curling up into the air and mingling with the heavy grey cloud that was full of the promise of rain. “Where to now?”

 

“We could stop for lunch,” Jimmy suggested, glancing around. They were in a snowy field which sloped downwards, away from the river. Stark trees lined the riverbank, adorned with red berries and frozen, stray leaves.

 

“Are you really calling lukewarm tea and gingerbread lunch?” Thomas raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Mr. Carson would be appalled.”

 

“Let him be appalled,” Jimmy grinned, pulling an old picnic rug from his bag and spreading it out on the icy ground. “It won’t get him any gingerbread.”

 

Thomas smiled slightly, and sat down on the picnic rug Jimmy unfolded, taking off his cap and running an elegant hand through his inky black hair. The river burbled past them, icy and clear against its banks, and the sky seemed to make it grey with cold. Jimmy flopped down on the rug beside Thomas, taking out the flask of tea. He felt slightly giddy, as though he’d just stepped off the swings.

 

“I’m afraid Mrs. Patmore wouldn’t loan me any mugs,” Jimmy said, offering Thomas the flask. “She said they wouldn’t come back in one piece.”

 

“Probably an accurate prediction,” Thomas remarked coolly, taking the flask and putting it up to his lips. Jimmy watched as he took a sip, the muscles in his pale throat contracting as he swallowed and set the flask down on the rug between them.

 

It was strange, seeing Thomas in such a natural environment. Before, Jimmy wasn’t sure he would have been able to picture the other man outside servants’ halls and boot rooms and indoor work— it suited his formal, impassive demeanour. But somehow, he looked more right with the icy breeze stinging his cheeks pink and ruffling his dark hair, watching the river burble past. He looked so much more comfortable, more human somehow— although the dark circles were still prominent under his eyes.

 

“Your turn,” Jimmy said, unwrapping the gingerbread which was still lukewarm.

 

Thomas raised his eyebrows, taking another sip of tea.

 

“To ask a question,” Jimmy clarified, taking a bite of gingerbread. The sweet, spicy taste filled his mouth, a complete contrast to the sharpness of the icy air.

 

“What’s your favourite thing about yourself?” Thomas asked, pulling his cigarettes from his coat pocket and declining Jimmy’s offer of the gingerbread.

 

Jimmy frowned, feeling uncertain. “I’ve never really thought about it,” he concluded, looking up at Thomas in surprise.

 

“Well, think about it now,” Thomas said evenly, putting a fresh cigarette between his lips. They were red from the cold, making his complexion paler than ever by comparison, and he’d taken off his gloves. Jimmy watched his long, pale fingers deftly light the cigarette.

 

“I’ve always been proud of my looks, I suppose,” Jimmy conceded after a few moments. “But I didn’t even earn those. They were just luck. I’m not really sure I like anything about myself that much. I’m not sure I know enough to be able to decide.” He looked up, still frowning slightly to find Thomas’ gaze on him, intent and unreadable. It was heavy with warmth for a split second before Thomas looked away, flaring the lighter and taking a drag of his cigarette.

 

“There must be something,” Thomas said through a cloud of smoke, grey eyes catching on Jimmy’s.

 

Wordlessly, Jimmy shook his head. He felt as though he didn’t know himself at all. Had he really lived with himself all these years without even considering who he was? He swallowed uncomfortably, trying to mask his discomfort by taking a gulp of tea and staring out at the brooding horizon. 

 

“What’s your favourite thing about me, then?” Jimmy asked thoughtlessly in attempt to change the subject, and then winced, regretting the words almost the moment they’d left his lips, like smoke from a cigarette.

 

However, Thomas appeared surprisingly composed. He exhaled a plume of smoke and knocked ash to the snowy grass, looking quietly thoughtful.

 

“I suppose I like how impulsive you are. You never stop to think about things, and that probably means you’re a lot more honest. You’re always nothing less than who you are,” Thomas said slowly, passing the cigarette to Jimmy. His fingers brushed warmly against Jimmy’s for a moment, making Jimmy shiver slightly and have to suppress the inexplicable urge to maintain the contact.

 

“Don’t you sometimes wish I was less impulsive?” Jimmy asked, his heart suddenly beating faster than it had been a moment ago. He couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was that the thing which Thomas liked best about him was what he considered to be a flaw, because it was what always ended up hurting Thomas or making things more uncomfortable than necessary.

 

“No,” Thomas said simply, his fingers brushing lightly against Jimmy’s as he took the cigarette back and put it to his mouth. Jimmy watched the tip of it disappear between Thomas’ lips where it had been on his own moments before, and fleetingly wondered whether Thomas could taste him on it the way Jimmy could always detect the subtle taste of him.

 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth between them and drinking the tea which was scalding hot in comparison to the icy air that stung Jimmy’s cheeks and ruffled his blonde hair in the wintry breeze. Jimmy couldn’t help feeling inexplicably and completely happy. He couldn’t remember having felt happier for years than he did, just sitting beside Thomas and watching the river flow through the icy field under an overcast sky. He could taste cologne and smoke in the air, and feel the slight warmth of Thomas beside him.

 

As he accepted a drag of the cigarette and handed it back to Thomas, letting his fingers linger slightly on Thomas’ as he did so, Jimmy couldn’t but help thinking how free Thomas looked. His eyes were still shadowed with sleeplessness, and Jimmy could see the faint lines on his forehead where he’d been frowning, but he looked a world apart from the Thomas who’d met Jimmy an hour or so ago in the courtyard with a painfully composed face and exhausted eyes. His jet black hair was windswept and soft, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold, and his stance was less rigid, somehow— as though he wasn’t forcing himself to maintain a façade.

 

“I’ve asked you this before,” Thomas said slowly, breaking the silence and glancing at Jimmy. The sky was beginning to darken slightly, the clouds a deeper grey that made it seem colder than ever. “But I’m curious as to whether or not you’ve found an answer yet. Why is this so important to you?” he regarded Jimmy intently, smoke curling around his expression.

 

“Asking questions, you mean?” Jimmy frowned, swallowing his mouthful of tea and looking at up Thomas. He felt a curious sensation in his chest at the contradictory warmth in the other man’s grey eyes.

 

Thomas nodded, cigarette between his lips.

 

“It’s… it’s like Anna said,” Jimmy said slowly, feeling uncertain, as though he was feeling his way down a darkened path to which he didn’t know the destination. “The best things are those which you can’t explain.”

 

“Then why do you keep trying to explain them?” Thomas countered, his grey gaze unfaltering. It was unnerving how frequently Thomas seemed to uncomfortable to meet Jimmy’s gaze at all— and yet when he did, it was Jimmy who felt uncomfortable, because it felt as though Thomas could see him utterly and completely in a way Jimmy just couldn’t see himself.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy replied honestly, feeling uncomfortable. “Truly. Or I would answer you, Mr. Barrow. I wish I knew why it was so important.”

 

Thomas didn’t say anything, but he took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Alright.” His tone was uncharacteristically gentle.

 

There was silence for a moment, frayed with the burble of the cold river. There were so many clouds it looked as though the sky couldn’t contain them.

 

“Do you know that I didn’t know that the snow was frozen rain until I was ten?” Jimmy said suddenly, remembering. He watched Thomas take another drag of the cigarette, his cheeks hollowing around his inhale and making him look strikingly handsome against the colourless scenery with his jet black hair and pale complexion.

 

“It sounds ridiculous now, but when I was young I used to think it was the stars falling out of the sky, because whenever it snowed at night, you could never see any stars— it was as though they were falling from the sky. Of course, I didn’t realise until later that I couldn’t see the stars because they were obscured by the clouds— I genuinely thought the snow must be falling stars,” Jimmy shook his head in disbelief, laughing slightly.

 

“You would have thought that,” Thomas said softly, smiling slightly around his cigarette. Even though they were still shadowed with exhaustion, his eyes were suddenly filled with warmth that Thomas probably hadn’t intended. It was the kind of warmth that Jimmy caught in the glimpses when Thomas didn’t think he was looking, the kind of warmth that made Thomas look as though he’d never been miserable in his life, the kind of warmth that made Jimmy feel giddy with the knowledge that he was the only one who knew that side of Thomas.

 

“What do you mean?” Jimmy frowned, taking the cigarette carefully from between Thomas’ fingers and putting it to his lips, letting the smoke fill his lungs. It was still warm from where it had been in Thomas’ mouth moments before, and the thought made Jimmy’s stomach feel heavy with something inexplicable.

 

“Everything has always got to have some great, wonderful explanation for you, hasn’t it?” Thomas said with uncharacteristic gentleness. His eyes lingered on Jimmy’s as the latter exhaled smoke and passed the cigarette back, fingers lingering on Thomas. “Nothing can just _be_.”

 

“That’s because everything _does_ have some great, wonderful explanation,” Jimmy argued persistently. “Just because I don’t discover it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”

 

Thomas regarded him closely for a moment, his gaze painfully grey and full of intensity. It was such a personal expression that Jimmy felt as though it almost tangibly touched him. Thomas took a drag of the cigarette, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

 

“You know,” Thomas exhaled leisurely, and looked back up at Jimmy, something in the quality of his gaze making Jimmy’s stomach tighten in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. “There was a time when I thought you were vain and uninterested in nothing but yourself…” Thomas trailed off, shaking his head slightly and smiling. “I couldn’t have been more wrong, could I?”

 

“You couldn’t have been more _right_ ,” Jimmy frowned, dropping his gaze and suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I’m only interested in what affects me.”

 

“Aren’t we all?” Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly, passing Jimmy the cigarette.

 

“Do you still think I’m vain, Mr. Barrow?” Jimmy asked, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched Thomas for his response.

 

“No. I haven’t thought so for a long time,” Thomas replied quietly. His grey eyes were intent and full of a sincerity that made Jimmy feel helpless. “And even when I did, I never quite believed it. It’s a clever distraction,” he finished, his voice softer than usual, as though it was how it truly was under the cool, composed mannerisms.

 

“Distraction from what?” Jimmy blinked.

 

“A distraction from you,” Thomas said simply.

 

Jimmy frowned, staring across at the snowy fields and the river. He’d never considered this, but when Thomas said it, it made his heart thump in his chest and his cheeks burn as though he was ashamed.

 

“Like your smoking and your disinterest?” Jimmy challenged, holding Thomas’ gaze. Something in it flickered, blazing for a moment like candle flames about to be blown out. Then Thomas bowed his head, smoke spilling from his lips as he took the cigarette from his mouth and cast it to the frozen ground beside them. He was like a book with the final page torn out.

 

“You say you need all these questions because you want to figure me out, Jimmy,” Thomas said slowly, looking up with an expression that that somehow rendered Jimmy suddenly completely and utterly powerless. His grey eyes were like the clouds overhead that threatened to melt everything. “But you don’t, do you? Much as I might wish otherwise, you can read me like a book.”

 

“But I _can’t_ , Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy protested quietly. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to speak quietly when they were the only ones for miles; it felt as though what he was saying was too fragile in his mind to be spoken too loudly. “I only know little bits. And I think that knowing little bits only makes you even more desperate to know more… it’s like reading the epilogue of a novel without the story that came before it.”

 

Thomas’ jaw clenched and unclenched, a strange expression coming over his features. The dark circles were just as pronounced under his eyes, but softened somehow, as if he’d stopped trying to fight them. He was suddenly looking at Jimmy as though it physically hurt him, and Jimmy suddenly felt torn between guilt and wonder.

 

After a moment, Thomas looked away, and Jimmy suddenly felt inexplicably lost. He watched as Thomas leant back on his elbows, staring up at the hopelessly grey sky. Fleetingly, Jimmy thought that he looked rather like a character from a luxurious novel with his ruffled black hair and cigarette between his red lips which made his expression paler than ever, and those eyes, those grey eyes that could reflect any colour they looked at and drown it. He let them flutter closed for a moment, managing to look pained and serene all at once under the heavy November sky.

 

It felt as though something in the atmosphere had shifted; as though all remaining inhibitions had been erased, revealing an intense undercurrent which Jimmy couldn’t quite put into words. He suddenly felt as though it was difficult to breathe, as he looked at Thomas who was lying right back on the rug, smoke spilling sinuously from his slightly parted lips.

 

He looked inexplicably perfect, with his eyes shut and the smoke unfurling from between his lips that so often were curled into a sneer, but right now were curved into the smallest of smiles. His shock of dark hair fell back from his face, exposing his pale forehead which was no longer furrowed in a frown— but Jimmy could see the slight lines on it from where Thomas had worried about things he’d never voice. He had to resist the sudden and inexplicable urge to trace his fingers across the ghostly lines, or to trail them through Thomas’ inky hair which was usually seamless and neat, but was now soft and tangled by the icy breeze. He was so real. It was as though this was the answer to all the questions the impassive Thomas evoked.

 

“Jimmy?” Thomas said softly, without opening his eyes. His voice was quiet, but it somehow seemed to fill the whole surroundings.

 

“I— yes?” Jimmy replied, suddenly feeling inexplicably flustered. His heart was thumping and his cheeks burnt red. He wanted to look away, but found he didn’t quite want to enough to do so. He felt as though he was on the swings at the fairground, but they were going too fast and he was dizzy, too dizzy to be able to see anything clearly except a blur of meaningless colours and shapes.

 

Thomas didn’t say anything, and didn’t open his eyes— but he extended his arm slightly towards Jimmy. For a moment, Jimmy’s heart leapt in his chest and he thought that Thomas was inviting him to lay down beside him— but then with a sinking feeling that wasn’t as simple as relief, he realised that Thomas was merely holding out his cigarette for Jimmy to take.

 

“Thanks,” Jimmy mumbled uneasily, taking it from Thomas’ fingers and letting his touch linger subtly longer than necessary so he could feel the soft, warm skin of the other man’s hand. He sometimes felt as though Thomas wasn’t quite real— as though he was a painting or theme from a story, and just the smallest of touches felt inexplicably important. It was as if the fleeting flash of warmth was a plaintive reminder that Thomas was, undeniably, wonderfully, and extremely real.

 

Thomas had never seemed more real to Jimmy than he did at that moment, laying back on the picnic rug on the frozen ground, smoke curling around his painfully unguarded expression. Jimmy shifted slightly, feeling the faint pressure of Thomas’ leg against his just like that night in London, and felt a sudden and powerful urge to touch it again, to reach out and touch the man he’d been trying to figure out for longer than he could remember, trace his fingers along the material of Thomas’ trousers and feel the warmth of the other man, to hear the soft groans stifled in his chest…

 

Shakily, Jimmy exhaled and reached out for Thomas’ hand, curling his fingers momentarily around Thomas’ as he handed back the cigarette. For a split second, he could feel the slight callus on the other man’s index finger, the harsh line where his glove began, where the pulse fluttered in his wrist—  but Thomas was pulling away almost instantly, putting the cigarette back up to his parted lips.

 

Jimmy watched him sucking on the cigarette, cheeks hollowed, and a felt his stomach grow heavy. Thomas was stunning, Jimmy realised belatedly. He couldn’t believe that he’d never realised it before. Thomas was inexplicably stunning with his sharply cut pallor, his inky black hair that fell away from his forehead, his lips that made it look as though he’d just taken a sip of red wine. He was elegant and surprising and completely unexpected, and Jimmy had suddenly never wanted to understand him more. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt as though his thoughts were spinning to fast to see, like snowflakes caught in the wind.

 

“Your turn,” Jimmy said quietly, watching the smoke unfurl from Thomas’ mouth as he exhaled slowly, eyes still shut. His voice sounded oddly breathless to his own ears, and he swallowed, feeling unlike himself.

 

“Questions?” Thomas’ voice was slightly rougher than usual, as if he was on the brink of sleep or was simply lulled by the silence.

 

Jimmy nodded in response to the question, although he knew Thomas couldn’t see him. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t quite trust himself to speak again. He felt as though he was no longer fully in control of his own words.

 

“Hm.” Thomas raised his arm, putting the cigarette to his mouth again. Jimmy watched the soft rise and fall of the other man’s chest and was reminded of that morning he’d woken up in London and just watched Thomas sleeping, thinking how different the other man looked to when he did with his eyes open— like he didn’t have to hide anything. It was as though he constantly lived in fear of what his grey eyes would reflect, and it was only when they were closed that he felt safe. With the heavy dark circles under his eyes, he somehow managed to look serene and anguished all at once— like the rainclouds and the snow they threatened to melt.

 

Jimmy didn’t know why, but he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to stare at Thomas for fear of making the other man uncomfortable— but now he allowed himself to stare with impunity. He wanted to take in every little mark and line on Thomas’ face, every little imperfection, and map them out like constellations to try and make sense of them the way people do with things that are too impossibly big for them to understand.

 

Jimmy fleetingly thought that Thomas himself was like the stars; so far away and incomprehensible, and yet with such relevance to the night’s sky. Beautiful to study, but infinitely too far away to comprehend.  His eyes were shut, lashes sooty against the pallor of his cheeks, locking everything out like clouds obscuring the incomprehensible meaning of the stars.

 

“Do I really not disgust you, Jimmy?” Thomas murmured through an exhalation of smoke. He didn’t open his eyes. Perhaps he found it easier to speak freely when they were closed. Jimmy suddenly found that his heart was beating very fast, and was glad that Thomas’ eyes were closed for fear that if Thomas looked at him, he would be able to see everything in a glance that Jimmy couldn’t yet understand.

 

He shook his head fervently, and then remembered that Thomas couldn’t see him. Hastily, he cleared his throat, watching the way that Thomas’ hand had stilled with the cigarette inches away from his lips, waiting for Jimmy’s reply.

 

“I meant what I said, in London,” Jimmy said quietly, suddenly realising the extent of the truth of this. He wasn’t drunk this time, and yet it somehow seemed even truer. How could _Thomas_ disgust him? It felt almost incomprehensible; the thought almost made him feel angry. The other man looked somehow so much more vulnerable with his eyes shut than with them open. His hand rested lightly across his chest, long pale fingers which Jimmy knew were impossibly damaged beneath the leather of his glove.

 

Tentatively, Jimmy reached out and traced them with his own, once again surprised at the softness of them, the overwhelming sensation of someone else.

 

Thomas’ eyes snapped open, painfully grey and full of anguish.

 

“I— I remember what you said to me, Mr. Barrow. That day when we started asking questions,” Jimmy said, hearing his own voice shake as he intertwined his fingers with Thomas’ elegant ones, feeling the calluses between them and the bumps of Thomas’ bones. It felt oddly grounding— Jimmy felt as though he was lost somewhere up in the clouds. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Thomas’ gaze.

 

“What did I say?” Thomas’ voice was torn, low and pained, but his eyes didn’t leave Jimmy’s, and he didn’t try to snatch his hand away. He didn’t move his fingers, but he let Jimmy continue to tentatively map out the different textures of their warm surface with an expression of agonised resignation.

 

“You— you said that the more people get to know you, the less they like you,” Jimmy swallowed, still tracing Thomas’ hand with his fingertips. “But that’s not true. I like you _more_ , Mr. Barrow. Everything I discover about you makes me like and respect you more. You’re brave and clever, and I’ve never known a man like you.”

 

 Thomas’ face contorted in anguish as he looked away.

 

“What is it?” Jimmy said anxiously, feeling as though he’d somehow said something wrong. He gripped Thomas’ hand more tightly.

 

Thomas closed his eyes as though resigning himself to failure. “Why do you always make it so hard for me to be friends with you, Jimmy?” he said quietly, his jaw clenched. Tentatively, he moved his thumb almost imperceptibly against Jimmy’s hand where it held his.

 

Without meaning to, Jimmy let out a shaky exhale at the contact. Thomas had never initiated any kind of physical contact since they had become friends, and Jimmy’s heart was suddenly racing in his chest so that he could hear the blood drumming in his ears and heaviness pooled in his stomach. 

 

“Thomas…” Jimmy said breathlessly, closing his eyes and gripping onto Thomas’ hand as though he was desperately trying to hold onto something that threatened to shatter at any moment. He could feel Thomas’ pulse fluttering wildly under the pale skin of his wrist, and felt Thomas’ fingers tentatively tracing along his own wrist. Jimmy wondered fleetingly if his own pulse was hammering as fast as Thomas’ was.

 

He traced his other hand up Thomas’ rapidly rising and falling chest, feeling the thump of Thomas’ heart underneath the fabric of his shirt. Jimmy shifted closer, running his fingertips along the jut of Thomas’ collarbone and feeling the inaudible, stifled moan resonate through Thomas’ chest. Undoing Thomas like this was undoing all the pretences and impassivity he put up; the Thomas like this was the closest to answers Jimmy had ever got, and it was like an addiction, he couldn’t bring himself to stop— he didn’t _want_ to bring himself to stop.

 

He could feel the soft skin of Thomas’ fingers tangled urgently in his, the warmth of Thomas’ leg pressed against his. Smoke spiralled up from the forgotten cigarette which lay on the snow-dusted grass beside them, and the air was full of the scent of cologne and unfinished revelations.

 

Jimmy felt as though he was walking along a tightrope with a sheer drop either side; every step was increasingly dangerous and yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop because it was exhilarating and wonderful all at once. He ran his fingers along Thomas’ jaw line, feeling the sharp line of his cheekbones and the slight roughness of stubble that made his fingertips tingle. Slowly, he traced his fingertips up to tentatively touch Thomas’ lower lip. It was impossibly soft; so soft he could barely feel it beneath his fingertips except for the shaky breath that Thomas let out at the contact, ghosting hotly over Jimmy’s fingers.

 

Swallowing, Jimmy looked down at Thomas’ slightly parted red lips, and felt his stomach grow heavy. He looked at the way he could see Thomas’ pulse fluttering in the exposed skin of his throat, the darkness of his pupils, the flush of his cheeks, and thought that it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.

 

Thomas shifted slightly, and Jimmy suddenly realised that Thomas was aroused. His erection was straining against the material of his trousers, and the sight of it sent a low pang of arousal through Jimmy, making his breath hitch in his throat as the sensation filled him to his fingertips, which tingled where they touched Thomas’ skin. Jimmy felt as though he was reeling from something which hadn’t yet happened. 

 

Seeing Thomas like this, with his lips parted, his chest rising and falling unevenly, eyes shut as though he was afraid to open them, was the closest to answers Jimmy had ever got. Every time he saw a different side to Thomas, it was as though he was a little closer to answers, and now he suddenly felt so close to them that he could almost taste them in the air. As Jimmy looked at Thomas, he felt as though he had never wanted to understand something more.

 

Thomas face was contorted into an expression torn between pleasure and anguish, and his lips were full and red where Jimmy lightly traced them, his fingertips tingling at the sensation of the hot, silky skin against them. Thomas’ breath was rapid and uneven against Jimmy’s touch, and his hand was intertwined fiercely in Jimmy’s other as though he was enduring a kind of pain.

 

 _Being in love is being scared_ , Thomas’ words echoed again in Jimmy’s mind. Jimmy had never been able to get them out of his head since Thomas had first spoken them. Jimmy suddenly thought how terrifying it would be to be so completely and utterly powerless to your own feelings, to something you could never change but which in itself would change everything irrevocably.

 

“Jimmy… stop…” Thomas groaned, sounding pained. His grip on Jimmy’s hand tightened for a moment before loosening, and then his eyes snapped open, devastatingly grey as they stared imploringly up at Jimmy, anguished and helpless. Jimmy had never seen Thomas look powerless before in his life.

 

Jimmy suddenly felt utterly helpless himself. His heart was thumping so fast he could barely think straight, and he’d never wanted something so much and not known what it was.

 

“I don’t want to,” he whispered honestly, staring at Thomas.

 

And then the rain was suddenly pouring down, the clouds emptying themselves over the snowy ground and shocking Jimmy into life with the iciness of the water. He gasped, stumbling to his feet and pulling Thomas with him. The droplets gushed down from the overcast sky in an icy downpour, soaking into the frozen ground and stinging Jimmy’s cheeks and plastering his hair to his forehead. It was like he’d been asleep and the rain had woken him up, but he was still bleary from it, disorientated.

 

For a moment, they just stared at each other in the hard, grey rain. Thomas’ cheeks were flushed pink, his pupils blown, and Jimmy could barely hear the rain over his own heartbeat. The downpour rapidly increased, pouring down bitterly around them and soaking them to the bone.

 

“Quick!” Jimmy cried, starting to run, and pulling Thomas with him. The rain poured down fiercely, so hard that Jimmy could barely see where he was going; all he was aware of was the hot pressure of Thomas’ hand clutched in his as they raced down the slope where the snow was beginning to melt into muddy slush and the red berries were crushed into the ground by the force of the raindrops.

 

It didn’t matter— none of it mattered. It was all wondrously, gloriously irrelevant. Everything was, apart from Thomas. He felt as though he was chasing things that he could never catch, and yet that was somehow the best bit. He felt as though it was Christmas Eve, as though he had read the epilogue. He felt wonderfully, stupidly, brilliantly alive. Nothing made more or less sense than it did at that moment, overwhelmingly nothing and everything all at once, and Jimmy couldn’t decide which he wanted more. He felt as though he was on the brink of understanding, as though it was all about to make wonderful, perfect sense.

 

He was dizzy, disorientated, stumbling unsteadily across the snowy ground as it melted with Thomas’ hand clasped tightly in his hand, and he had never felt more wonderful in his life.

 

Eventually, they stumbled came to a halt under the eaves of an old cottage, gasping for air, breath coming in unsteady gasps in the cold air, as though they were smoking the cigarettes that they’d left to melt in the rain at the top of the hill along with everything else. Jimmy felt exhilarated; wonderfully, stupidly, brilliantly alive. Thomas’ hair was plastered to his forehead in a shock of jet black, his eyes wide and greyer than the rain could ever be, his mouth parted slightly as he gasped for breath, cheekbones slightly pink from the stinging rain.

 

Jimmy felt as though he had never seen anything so clearly; all the colours seemed brilliantly defined and his heart was thumping and thumping and thumping, as though he’d run all the way from the moment Thomas had told him he was playing the same piano music his mother used to. Even though his heart felt as though it was beating faster than it had ever done in his life and his head was exploding with newly-founded questions, he felt strangely calm.

 

“I have a question,” Jimmy said breathlessly, suddenly realising how close he was standing to Thomas. Their breath mingled in the icy air between them, and Jimmy could feel the warmth of Thomas’ body inches away, but he didn’t step away.

 

“Go on then,” Thomas said, eyes locked on Jimmy’s. His sharp cheeks were softened with pink from running, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly so that Jimmy could feel his unsteady breaths against his lips, tasting of cigarettes and sweet tea. 

 

“What’s the happiest you’ve ever been?” Jimmy asked breathlessly.

 

“Now,” Thomas replied simply. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were glittering.

 

Jimmy felt as though he was half in a dream as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. His heart was racing almost harder than it had been as they’d run wildly down the hill in the bitterly cold rain, and his breath hitched in his throat. He could feel the soft warmth of Thomas’ breath brushing his lips, taste the cologne and smoke and tea, hear how Thomas swallowed in the silence, as though he was afraid. But Jimmy didn’t feel afraid. He felt strangely calm, even though his pulse was throbbing and he could barely catch a breath. It suddenly felt so gloriously simple.

 

Jimmy leant the few inches forward and leant his forehead against Thomas’, still breathing hard. “Me too…” he murmured, feeling as though he had run from the moment he’d started asking questions. He felt Thomas let out a shaky breath so close that it almost brushed against Jimmy’s lips. He could feel the warmth of Thomas’ body pressed up against his, the heat of Thomas’ quickened breaths against his lips.

 

He tentatively rubbed his thumb over Thomas’ hand where their fingers were still intertwined, and _felt_ the soft groan resonate in Thomas’ chest. The sound made arousal curl in Jimmy’s groin and his breath quicken; the air was filled with the sound of their shallow breathing and the rain pouring down. Jimmy closed his eyes, moving his head slightly so that he could feel Thomas’ nose against his. Slowly, he stepped closer so that every inch of him was pressed up against the warmth of Thomas’ body, as if by standing as close as possible he could understand him.

 

Jimmy felt his cock twitch in his trousers at the sensation of Thomas’ erection pressed against his hip. He shifted slightly, eyes fluttering closed, his grip tightening on Thomas’ hand as the arousal pooled in his stomach at the proximity. Thomas moved subtly closer, and a shock of pleasure shot through Jimmy at the feeling of his erection rubbing against Thomas’ leg. He let out a shaky gasp, his breathing shallow and unsteady against Thomas’ lips.

 

The desperation Jimmy had felt for answers was suddenly something much more powerful, something more like longing—something that pulled powerfully at Jimmy’s chest and made his heart beat faster and faster. It consumed him completely, just like the urge to find answers had been. Perhaps they had just been a pretence all along, and this was the answer. Jimmy swallowed unsteadily, pressing closer to Thomas.

 

“Jimmy…” Thomas’ voice was low and broken, the single word murmured unevenly so that Jimmy could almost feel it against his mouth.

 

He brought his hands up to cup Thomas’ face and opened his eyes, breathing hard as he drew back slightly so he could look at the other man properly.

 

Jimmy had never seen Thomas look so completely unguarded. His expression was torn between pained hope and anguish, and his composure was shattered. His inky black hair was damp and dishevelled from the downpour, a flush stood out high on his cheekbones, and his shadowed grey eyes blazed against the falling rain, their pupils black and blown, like a night without the stars. Jimmy was standing so close that he could see himself reflected in them— but he didn’t recognise himself.

 

He looked at Thomas, and was suddenly consumed by an overwhelming fear. It crushed him and he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. He felt as though he had woken up from a dream only to find that everything had changed irrevocably beyond all recognition and he hadn’t the slightest idea how. The rain suddenly felt searingly cold against Jimmy’s back, slicing right through him like the excruciating hope in Thomas’ expression. The grey of his eyes was endless and incomprehensibly, and Jimmy suddenly realised that he didn’t understand anything at all.

 

Jimmy’s hands trembled where they cupped Thomas’ jaw as he looked at him, seeing the reflection he didn’t recognise in the centre of those blown, black pupils. 

 

“I’m scared, Thomas,” Jimmy whispered helplessly as the rain poured down behind him, dissolving everything.

 

 

The snow had melted. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long (bloody coursework takes up so much time)... I hope it's length/content made up for the wait. I'm actually pretty nervous about posting this chapter, I feel as though I haven't done it justice, but I've spent so long on it I don't really know what else to do. I'd love to know your thoughts on it and if it was okay. Eternal thank yous to you wonderful people who have been so supportive of this story, it means more than you know. <3
> 
> P.S. Sorry for the lateness reply to the comments on the last chapter... I'm doing so as soon as this has been posted!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, a huge apology for how RIDICULOUSLY late this update is. I've had mock exams and various other equally shit things going on the last few weeks, which have sadly left me little time for writing. Secondly, to all you utterly wonderful people who have left such lovely comments and been so supportive... I really can't tell you how much it means to me, thank you so much. <3 Also HUGE thanks to LapinPetite and Moleslay for the totally gorgeous fanart for the previous chapter which can be found here: http://all-stories-in-the-end-221b.tumblr.com/post/110078068112/milwa-cz-did-this-amazing-piece-of-thommy-fanart http://all-stories-in-the-end-221b.tumblr.com/post/109208404402/moleslay-it-was-something-which-had-happened You guys are just amazing.<3
> 
> I very much hope you enjoy the chapter! Again, I'm actually super nervous about posting this chapter because... well, you'll find out. As always, I'd really love to know your thoughts on it - especially for this one. Hope it's okay!

 

Jimmy had never run away from anything before in his life. He’d never needed to. He’d spent his life running to things, not away from them— nothing had ever mattered enough for him to want to escape it. Never before had he felt a fear so acute and incomprehensible that it made him forget everything he knew and everything he didn’t, and just made him desperate to escape. Jimmy had never run away from anything before in his life— but he was running away now, so fast that his lungs burned and his heart pounded and pounded and pounded like a clock that had been over-wound.

 

The rain was pouring down harder than ever, hard and grey and unforgiving. It lashed against Jimmy’s skin as he ran, making him feel numb as he stumbled blindly across the darkening fields and paths, slipping and stumbling on the slushy, muddy remnants of the snow, the breath catching in his lungs like shards of splintered glass. It was bitterly cold, so cold that it hurt, but Jimmy was barely aware of it. He felt as though he had somehow left a part of himself behind somewhere in the downpour but was too afraid to go back for it.

 

He desperately wanted to think; to understand— but his thoughts were so full of Thomas that it felt as though his head was exploding. It felt as though his thoughts no longer belonged to him, but to someone else he didn’t know. Jimmy didn’t even know what he was thinking; everything he knew was melting the second he touched it, blurring into the darkness like the rain that was still pouring down around him.

 

Although the path home was familiar even in the pouring rain and half-dark, Jimmy felt completely lost and dazed, as though he’d lost his way a long time ago without even noticing. He’d never felt more helpless in his life. He couldn’t believe how mistaken he’d been in thinking that it was the one who asked the questions who was in control. The answers all belonged to Thomas, not to him, and there was nothing left that he understood— and it truly frightened him, like nothing had before, because he was suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what he didn’t know.

 

 _Being in love is like being scared,_ Thomas had told weeks ago, when Jimmy had asked why Thomas had saved him. The phrase echoed round Jimmy’s exploding thoughts as he stumbled up the path, like a kind of indelible litany whose significance Jimmy couldn’t fathom no matter how hard he tried. 

 

The icy, dark rain blurred his vision, and all he could see was his own reflection in Thomas’ blown pupils— the reflection that he didn’t recognise. Even though it was pouring, he could still smell the scent of cigarettes and cologne, as though Thomas was walking right beside him; but whenever Jimmy turned around, the space beside him was uncomfortably empty and he felt worse than ever.

 

There was so much all at once that Jimmy just felt unbearably numb. It was as though there was simply too much for him to comprehend, and so it all just froze— like the clocks had stopped the moment Jimmy had pulled away from Thomas.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

It was almost completely dark by the time Jimmy eventually stumbled into the yard. He couldn’t see the stars in the sky, but it wasn’t snowing either— the stars were just gone, and the sky was blank and burnt, as though the stars were candles which had been blown out. He felt numb and disorientated as he stumbled dazedly inside, dimly hearing the yard door clanging shut behind him. The air of the servants’ hall was still and airless in comparison to the sharpness of the November dusk, and Jimmy’s cheeks burnt from the sudden warmth of the fire.

 

“Jimmy?”

 

He swallowed, vaguely aware of the concern in Anna’s voice. It was as though everything was out of focus; as though he was trapped in some kind of dream that didn’t belong to him. Rain fell at his feet from where it had soaked his hair and clothes, as though he’d brought the storm clouds back with him.

 

“Jimmy, what happened?”

 

It was Ivy’s voice this time, and the concern was more marked.

 

“I’m fine,” Jimmy mumbled uncertainly, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. The sound of it jerked him slightly out of the numbness, almost surprised it had come from him, and he blinked, focusing on the worried expressions directed at him. He swallowed, numbly pushing a hand through his wet hair and shivering. The cold had barely percolated his overwhelmed senses on the way back, but now that he was inside in a room with a blazing fire, he suddenly felt colder than he ever had before in his life.

 

“You’re soaked to the bone,” Anna was saying, and Jimmy felt the comforting pressure of her grasp above his elbow, gently steering out of the kitchen and away from Ivy’s increasingly anxious questions and Moleslay’s curious stare. He felt dimly grateful that everyone else seemed to be elsewhere and that Carson wasn’t there to reprimand him about his sodden state of attire.

 

“The snow’s melting,” Jimmy mumbled dazedly, pushing his soaking hair out of his eyes and looking at Anna. His heart was still thrumming in his chest like a constricted bird, and his cheeks stung from the bitterness of the rain.

 

“Where’s Mr. Barrow?” Anna asked, concern colouring her tone.

 

Jimmy swallowed, suddenly to his horror feeling as though he was choking back tears. He remembered how happy he’d felt that morning when he was waiting for Thomas in the yard, how he had been on top of the world and couldn’t wait to spend the whole day with Thomas asking questions. A few hours ago, he had felt as though he was on the glorious precipice of knowing everything, and now he had somehow made the fall and lost everything he’d found out along the way at the same time.

 

“Is— is he not back?” Jimmy asked anxiously, guilt suddenly gripping his chest.

 

Anna shook her head. She hesitated for a moment, but then seemed to sense that pressing the issue would be unhelpful. “Get changed into something warm and dry,” she said instead, patting Jimmy gently on the arm. “I’ll see if I can bring some supper up for you while they’re serving dinner upstairs.” She opened her mouth as if to continue— but was apprehended by the sound of footsteps and then Ivy came into view, her brown eyes wide with worry as she looked at Jimmy’s sullen, soaked form.

 

“Shouldn’t you be helping Mrs. Patmore with the puddings?” Anna said calmly.

 

“Yes,” Ivy said distractedly, eyes on Jimmy. “I just thought… I thought I’d see if Jimmy’s alright.”

 

“I’m fine,” Jimmy said bluntly, jaw clenched. He refused to look at Ivy.

 

“Then what happened?” Ivy persisted anxiously. She was too close— Jimmy could smell her sweet, flowery perfume that was too soft and reminded him horribly of the night Thomas had been away in London and he’d gone to the pub with her. Guilt pooled in his chest, heavy and uncomfortable.

 

“Nothing,” Jimmy gritted out, pushing his soaking hair out of his eyes.

 

“Has Mr. Barrow done something to upset you? I’ve said before, I can never understand why you spend time with him when he’s so horrible to everyone,” Ivy went on, reaching out to stroke Jimmy’s arm, but he flinched away, jaw gritted, heart thudding wretchedly in his chest.

 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jimmy said quietly, the words unsteady. He jerked his arm out of Ivy’s grip, anger beginning to prickle at his skin.

 

“Jimmy—”

 

“I _said_ , I’m fine!” Jimmy was shouting suddenly, anger burning through him even though he was still numb from the cold. Suddenly he couldn’t stand the pity in Ivy’s voice or Anna’s expression; it was more unbearable than the guilt in his chest. Before either of them could say another word, he stormed up the stairs to the men’s quarters, where he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, anger coursing through his body until he felt as though it would break.

 

He didn’t even know what he was angry about— perhaps just the sheer enormity of what he didn’t know. He couldn’t stop seeing Thomas’ anguished expression, and screwed his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists and pressing them fiercely against his eyes to keep them closed, desperately willing the image to disappear. But it didn’t; Thomas filled his mind utterly and completely, as he always had done.

 

It was as though the colours of everything else had run, but Thomas was a fixed point, unflinching in his mind. Jimmy had thought that knowing more might have made Thomas fade a little from his mind, but instead, it’d had the complete opposite effect. Jimmy’s head and heart and senses were so full of Thomas that he felt as though he would burst if something— _anything_ — didn’t happen. Only he couldn’t think what.

 

For several long moments, Jimmy just stood with his back braced against the door, breathing heavily as the anger burned through him, making him feel as though head would explode. Gradually, his breathing slowed and the anger began to fade along with the intensity of his thoughts. When they were replaced with the same bleak, unresolved numbness Jimmy had felt in the rain on the way back to Downton, he brought his hands down from his eyes and tentatively opened them to find his reflection staring back at him in the looking glass.

 

His blonde hair was soaked and dripped rainwater down his face from its darkened tendrils, his eyes wide and blue and wild as though they were seeing the world for the first time. Jimmy swallowed, looking away. He was afraid. He knew nothing at all and he couldn’t think straight and his heart was beating and beating and beating and he needed _something_ but he didn’t know what. He felt as though he was in some kind of purgatory as he paced his room restlessly, trying frantically to make his thoughts make some coherent semblance but they remained tangled and half-formed.

 

No matter how hard he tried to think straight, all that filled Jimmy’s head was the image of Thomas lying back on the picnic rug in the melting snow, eyes shut serenely, smoke spiralling sinuously from between his slightly parted lips. Never before had Jimmy seen him look so simply real. He had looked so gloriously, wonderfully relaxed that it had almost hurt to look at him and yet Jimmy had never felt happier in his life than he had in that moment. It had had some kind of profound impact on Jimmy which he couldn’t quite comprehend.

 

All he knew was that suddenly, everything had changed utterly and irrevocably. _Sometimes you don’t realise you have anything to lose— until you lose it_ , Thomas had said once. And Jimmy felt as though he had lost something without realising he’d even had it in the first place— without even knowing what it was.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

Instead of tiring, Jimmy only grew more restless as the night wore on. He was torn between pacing his room, sitting on his bed with his head in his hands and clutching his hair, raking his hands through it as he watched the blank, glossy rain rolling endlessly down the window. He felt as though his head was exploding with Catherine wheels in the dark endless skies which were vast and terrifying with no stars and no limit. He had changed into his pyjamas and robe out of the soaked clothes, but they felt too tight round his chest, as though they were constricting him— as though they were too small for him like his head was too small for his thoughts.

 

He felt sick. It was worse than when Thomas had got beaten up after the fair, because Jimmy knew that he had abandoned Thomas in a much more fundamental way this time. The bitter guilt gnawed at his chest, making him pace more incessantly up and down the floor of his room, too afraid to go downstairs for fear that Thomas would be there or wouldn’t be there. He raked his hands through his hair which was still damp, feeling utterly and completely helpless.

 

Eventually, when it was completely dark outside and the raindrops were desolate and expendable on the windowpane, there was a soft knock on the door. Jimmy jumped wildly, leaping up from where he’d sunk down on the bed with his head in his hands. His heart felt as though it was detached from his chest, torn between hope and fear.

 

Swallowing, Jimmy pulled the door open and light from the hallway spilled into his darkened room which was lit by a single, dwindling lamp on the vanity.

 

Anna was standing in the doorway, offering a small tray of food and a tentative smile.

 

“Is Mr. Barrow back?” Jimmy blurted, heart thrumming his chest. The name stung his tongue, as though he no longer had the right to utter it.

 

“Yes, he got back an hour or so ago. He’s in the servants’ hall,” Anna replied. She didn’t elaborate, but handed Jimmy a steaming mug of tea from the tray. “Here, drink this.”

 

“Thanks,” Jimmy mumbled, heart beating faster still in his chest at the thought of sitting downstairs in his usual seat by the fire where he’d once bandaged Jimmy’s hand for him. Shakily, he took a sip of tea.

 

“Jimmy— I don’t mean to pry, but is everything… is everything quite alright?” Anna asked softly, her warm brown eyes full of kindness and concerned as she surveyed Jimmy.

 

Jimmy swallowed awkwardly, ducking his head and letting the silence grow between them for a moment. Downstairs, he could distantly hear Moleslay and Baxter playing cards and Carson’s irate tone as he told off one of the hallboys, and suddenly felt overwhelmingly lonely.  

 

“Have you ever just had to know everything about someone?” Jimmy asked quietly after another moment, letting the mug of tea clink against his teeth as he took another shaky sip. It was hard to swallow, as though all he knew was stuck in his throat, just waiting for him to utter it.

 

“Just once,” Anna said gently.

 

Jimmy took another gulp of scalding tea to try and diffuse the lump in his throat.

 

“I feel—” Jimmy broke off gruffly, shaking his head. He wasn’t used to talking about himself, least of all to Anna. If it was anyone, it should have been Thomas— but just thinking of Thomas made Jimmy’s stomach clench uncomfortably and his heart thrum in his chest so fast he felt sick.

 

“What?” Anna prompted softly, eyes full of kindness.

 

“I— I feel as though I’ve been trying to understand someone so much that I’ve forgotten myself and I don’t know who I am anymore,” Jimmy mumbled, staring at the floor. He wondered if Thomas was outside, smoking without him and felt worse than ever.

 

 “Perhaps that tells you all you need to know,” Anna said gently.

 

Jimmy stared at her, blinking.

 

“Think about it,” Anna smiled sadly. “It’ll all make sense soon, Jimmy.” She handed him the tray, and closed the door softly behind her, leaving Jimmy standing alone in the shadows of his room with his heart heavy in his chest, feeling more conflicted than he could ever remember having done in his life.

 

He desperately wanted to go downstairs and see Thomas, but he was afraid and guilty, just as he had been that night all those months ago after Thirsk fair when he’d paused outside Thomas’ room. He was full of feelings he couldn’t begin to express, let alone understand, and had never felt as though he needed something so much in his life and not known what it was.

 

Shakily, he sank down on the edge of his bed, the mug of tea cradled in his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking of how happy he’d been that morning when he and Thomas had set off across the lightly snow-dusted fields, how he’d lain awake half the night in the same bed he was sitting on now full of uncontainable happiness— and it made him feel worse than ever. He felt numb as he sat on his bed and the tea gradually turned cold in his hands and he heard everyone make their way up to bed in dribs and drabs and the rain never stopped rolling down the window, cold and black.

 

Jimmy stared at it, remembering the way it had cascaded down Thomas’ cheekbones and coated his eyelashes. He stared at it until the house was silent and dark around him, until he couldn’t bear it anymore. He didn’t know anything— except that he needed to see Thomas.

 

He felt as though he was in a kind of dream as he closed his bedroom door softly behind him and made his way down the hallway and the stairwell to where he could see the faint glow of dull light ebbing from the servants’ hall. His heart had been full of heavy guilt and frenzied fear ever since he’d left Thomas in the rain, but now it felt as though it was numb too, frozen in time. His thoughts continued in a turmoil as incessant as the rain, but he ignored them as he paused in the doorway, swallowing.

 

Thomas was sitting at the furthest end of the servants’ hall, like a full stop to Jimmy’s incomprehensible thoughts. There was a cigarette between his fingers, but he wasn’t smoking it; instead, he was staring into the depths of the dying fire, ash cascading to the tabletop as the cigarette burnt out. Jimmy suddenly wanted to turn and go back upstairs before Thomas noticed him, but somehow, he couldn’t. He felt as though he’d walked into a private moment; a moment in which Thomas was more in his own head than he was sitting at the table and Jimmy had no right to intrude— but he still couldn’t bring himself to go away.

 

The dwindling flames of the fire were reflected in Thomas’ unreadable grey eyes, like they had been all those weeks ago when he’d tenderly bandaged Jimmy’s injured hand or when they stayed up late, asking questions and smoking.

 

“You’ll burn your fingers,” Jimmy said quietly, his voice feeling hoarse. He felt nervous, as though he was talking to a stranger— but perhaps the stranger was himself, not Thomas.

 

Thomas’ gaze snapped up at the sound of it, the unguarded expression on his face closing up in an instant. His grey eyes looked more darkly shadowed than ever, and his hair was still slightly damp from the rain, falling across his forehead and making him look uncharacteriscally naïve. Even although he was doing his best to maintain his usual impassive expression, somehow now it just looked painfully vulnerable. Jimmy had been afraid that he wouldn’t know him— but he found that Thomas was more familiar than himself.

 

He swallowed, trying to think of something to say. He felt as though he wanted to say everything; and yet he didn’t know even half of what ‘everything’ might consist of. Jimmy could feel his heart was thumping in his chest, but he felt numb, as though the cold of the rain on the way home had frozen his thoughts. He felt as though he could feel Thomas’ heart beating the way it had earlier from all the way across the room, matching his own. And suddenly the fear didn’t matter. It simply wasn’t the most important thing anymore.

 

Thomas’ gaze was a question, holding onto his and turning everything inside out and upside-down with its impossible, inconceivable grey. Tension seemed to fuse the air between them, turning everything to a standstill even though the clock on the mantelpiece still ticked resolutely through the heavy silence.

 

When Jimmy didn’t answer, Thomas got to his feet, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray. His grey eyes caught on Jimmy’s for a moment, painfully open like they had been earlier that day or that night in London— but then it was gone gone, drowned by blazing impassivity, and Thomas was walking briskly past Jimmy towards the door. His hand brushed fleetingly against Jimmy’s as he tried to pass through the doorway where Jimmy was standing motionless. It was just the faintest brush of skin and warmth, but Jimmy suddenly felt as though his mind had exploded with memories of Thomas passing him cigarettes and playing the piano with him and bandaging his hand in front of the fire, and something snapped inside him.

 

Without thinking, Jimmy grabbed Thomas’ wrist, preventing him from leaving the room. Thomas froze instantly as though he’d been turned to stone. He was so close to Jimmy that Jimmy could almost feel the hitch in his breath that matched the irregularity of his pulse where Jimmy’s fingers still held his wrist. His grey eyes were blazing, even though the flames in the fire were no longer reflected in them. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, the weight of everything between them seemingly held up by their locked gazes. Jimmy felt as though it would all come crashing down the second one of them looked away unless everything somehow changed. The tension in the air seemed to fizzle like electricity, making Jimmy’s heart beat faster and faster as it mounted with every passing moment.

 

The skin of Thomas’ wrist was soft and warm under Jimmy’s fierce fingertips, his gaze resolute and unreadable under Jimmy’s eyes. Jimmy remembered the night when Thomas had told him that he was playing the same piano piece his mother had been; remembered how Thomas’ eyes had been full of unguarded warmth as he’d tended to Jimmy’s injured hand; remembered how they’d both laughed until it hurt when they’d played duets on the piano; remembered how Thomas had shown him the scarred skin under his glove that he’d shown no one else; remembered how Thomas had told him that being in love was like being afraid; remembered how they’d sat together in the snowy park in London and how Jimmy had never wanted to move from that moment; remembered the anguished longing in Thomas’ eyes when Jimmy had thoughtlessly traced his hand up his thigh; remembered how Thomas had forgiven him.

 

Then Jimmy remembered how the sharp lines of Thomas’ cheekbones had felt under his fingertips earlier that day, which felt as though it was simultaneously a heartbeat ago and forever— and he remembered how he’d traced the curve of Thomas’ lips; remembered how he hadn’t wanted to stop…

 

Thomas flinched slightly, almost as though he’d heard Jimmy’s last thought. His grey eyes were burning and blown, as though what Jimmy was thinking was reflected in them. Jimmy looked at Thomas and suddenly felt as though he’d never needed anything more in his life. He suddenly became aware that his heart was racing in his chest, matching the irregular flutter of Thomas’ pulse beneath his fingertips and the uneven rise and fall of Thomas’ chest.

 

Then Thomas dropped his gaze, and everything crashed on the floor between them as Thomas tried to move away from Jimmy’s grasp.

 

“Please,” Thomas said quietly, the single, anguished word filling the proximity between them. His eyes flickered up to meet Jimmy’s, grey and blazing and completely unguarded. He was breathing heavily, the warmth of it filling the air between them.

 

Thomas tried to move, and suddenly Jimmy felt himself lose control. Then they were stumbling backwards and Jimmy heard Thomas’ head hit the wall— and then they were kissing urgently, and it was like nothing Jimmy had ever experienced in his life. Jimmy was gasping against Thomas’ mouth, but he felt as though he couldn’t breathe as he kissed the other man as though his life depended on it, his hands fiercely gripping Thomas’ jaw, eyes squeezed shut so that he wouldn’t have to look at the reflections he didn’t recognise. He didn’t even know how he’d started it, but all he knew now was that he couldn’t stop. It felt as though it was some kind of answer, and Jimmy couldn’t get enough. It was urgent and anguished and fearful and utterly wonderful, and Jimmy just couldn’t let go.

 

Thomas let out a choked noise as Jimmy kissed him harder, a noise half between pain and relief. Jimmy held onto him tightly, cupping Thomas’ face and feeling the sharpness of his cheekbones under his fingers. His lips were surprisingly soft against Jimmy’s, as though Jimmy had expected them to be hardened from all their sharp words— but they weren’t; they were contradictingly soft, just like his hands, which should have been calloused from years of hard work. He tasted of something Jimmy felt as though he’d been unknowingly craving for longer than he could remember, and he could detect the lingering taste of tea and cigarettes. Jimmy kissed him harder, needing to be as close as possible to the other man, as though being so meant he was almost close enough to understand.

 

“God… please…” Thomas choked out as Jimmy pressed as close as he could, breaking the kiss and breathlessly sucking at tender skin of Thomas’ neck, pushing them right back against the wall until he was crushed completely against the other man. Jimmy had never heard Thomas utter something so vulnerable, and he could feel the tremor running all through Thomas’ body from where they were crushed together. He sounded on the verge of tears and his hands gripped Jimmy’s arms tightly as though he was unable to let go.

 

Jimmy had never heard Thomas sound pleading in his life or even a few shades away from composed— but now he sounded almost completely undone, as though he was coming apart in Jimmy’s arms, and Jimmy couldn’t stop; he didn’t _want_ to stop. It was okay— it was all okay as long as they didn’t stop, because that way Jimmy didn’t have to face his thoughts. Kissing Thomas was like running away all over again.

 

Urgently, Jimmy pushed his hands up to hold onto Thomas’ hair which was still damp from the rain and kept kissing him, letting the hot pressure of the other man’s mouth completely absorb him. His senses were completely filled with Thomas as they had always been, only this time it was more tangible; the feel of Thomas’ hot, soft mouth under his lips, the way their chests were pressed together so hard that Jimmy couldn’t tell which heartbeat belonged to who. He groaned softly as Thomas kissed him back fervently and full of anguish, as though it was their last kiss and not their first.

 

Jimmy ground his hips up into Thomas’, unable to stop himself from moaning quietly at the feel of Thomas’ hardness against his and the way that Thomas’ breath hitched in his throat and gasped hotly against the skin of Jimmy’s neck, making Jimmy groan and bite down on the skin of Thomas’ shoulder, rutting up against him.

 

“Jimmy…” Thomas murmured breathlessly against Jimmy’s lips as Jimmy cupped his jaw and pulled him into another kiss. He uttered the word as though he didn’t believe it— and the sound of his own name on Thomas’ lips suddenly made Jimmy come crashing back to earth. He froze, one hand tangled in Thomas’ hair, the other resting low on his hip as the enormity of what he’d just done suddenly overwhelmed him so suddenly he felt dizzy. The deserted servants’ hall suddenly seemed very quiet, filled with their unsteady breathing.

 

He had Thomas crushed against the wall with heavy eyes and swollen lips, more vulnerable than Jimmy had ever seen him to be in the years he’d known him— and yet Jimmy was the one who was utterly lost. He was lost and powerless in a myriad of things he didn’t understand and now that he’d stopped running away he couldn’t catch his breath. He couldn’t think straight. His thoughts were tangled into the fevered beat of his heart, and he felt as though he’d never be able to breathe again.

 

“Jimmy?” The way Thomas uttered the name this time was completely different. It was uneven with underlying desperation, as though he knew it was useless before he’d even spoken it.

 

“I— Forget it,” Jimmy whispered wildly, eyes wide as his heart raced in his chest. His voice sounded hoarse and foreign to his own ears and he felt sick. Thomas’ lips were swollen and bruised, his eyes all black pupil and encircled with a tiny ring of anguished grey. Jimmy swallowed, dropping his hands from where they’d held Thomas as though they’d been burnt. “I— forget this. Thomas— please.”

 

Thomas stared at him, unmoving. His hair was ruffled and out of place from where Jimmy had tugged at it, and two spots of colour stood out high on his cheeks, making him look softer than usual. He looked a world apart from the cool, composed man Jimmy knew so well.

 

Shakily, Jimmy rubbed a hand across his lips and pushed his own dishevelled hair out of his eyes, suddenly feeling even more lost and scared than he had when he’d left Thomas standing in the rain what felt like days ago. He took a hesitant step back, and watched how Thomas’ unguarded expression crumbled.

 

Jimmy wanted to apologise, but the word got stuck in his throat.

 

“Seeing as you’re so keen on questions,” Thomas said quietly, his voice hoarse and low as it broke the awful silence that drowned the room and made Jimmy’s heart hurt in his chest. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Right this moment.” There was a desperate, pleading quality to his broken voice Jimmy had never heard before and made him feel even sicker. “Please. _Jimmy_.”

 

Jimmy shook his head wildly, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“Why not?” Thomas asked, his impassive tone unsteady and hoarse. His eyes were greyer than Jimmy had ever seen them, as though he knew the question was fruitless even as he spoke it.

 

“I— I can’t,” Jimmy stammered, heart still racing in his chest as though it was trying to outrun his thoughts. He looked at Thomas’ broken expression and mussed hair and where his lips were bruised from kissing, and wanted to run away all over again. Questions had been something he’d longed for, but now he was afraid of them.

 

He was afraid that perhaps he already knew all the answers.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy’s head was full of ghost stars, his heart was a stone, and he felt more lost than he had ever known possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, it's been forever since I updated this! I'm so sorry for the wait. As those of you who follow me on tumblr will know, the delay was due to exams which are now (thankfully!) over and then a nice healthy dose of writer's block. It took me a little while to get back into writing after so long away from it, so I hope this is alright (I'm a little apprehensive about it). Only a few chapters left! I really cannot thank those lovely people who have been continually supportive of this enough, it just makes my day to read your comments and what you thought about the chapter. Thanks so much for being patient, and I hope you enjoy the update! As ever, feedback is hugely welcome! <3

For most of his life, Jimmy had been content with solitude because there had been no one he wished to share himself with. He had grown accustomed to having everyone like him but no one know him, and had never had cause to want anything more until he had met Thomas, someone who seemed to know Jimmy better than he knew himself. And now without him, for the first time in his life, Jimmy was truly experiencing loneliness. It had been a month since that night in the servants’ hall, and Jimmy had never felt more alone in his life.

 

It had struck him the moment he’d lurched away from Thomas and run away all over again, his chest feeling irrevocably cold from where Thomas had been pressed moments before. He remembered how he’d used to joke with Alfred that Thomas had a heart made of stone, but now he felt as though that was him. His heart weighed heavily behind his ribs, bruising him whenever he took a breath, as though it truly had been turned to stone. All remaining questions had died on the tip of his tongue now that he knew the answer— only it was still out of sight. It was like staring up at the stars and seeing ones which had been dead for thousands of years but which looked exactly the same as all the others. Jimmy’s head was full of ghost stars, his heart was a stone, and he felt more lost than he had ever known possible.

 

Thomas hadn’t looked at Jimmy since that night in the servants’ hall, as if doing so would acknowledge what had happened between them. Jimmy began to feel that he would almost prefer that to the blank, numb silence that hung between them even when the room was round with bustle around them. For the first few days he had desperately tried to catch Thomas’ gaze when they passed each other in the hall or sat opposite each other at supper, but it was useless. Thomas remained expressionless and blank, the shadows under his eyes that darkened with every passing day the only giveaway to his seamless, empty façade. For the first time since they had become friends, it seemed as though there was nothing Jimmy could do to reach him.

 

Half the time he forgot, and would automatically try and catch Thomas’ eye whenever Moleslay or Alfred said something particularly stupid at the dinner table— but then his gaze would meet nothing but Thomas’ averted one, and the reality of what he’d done would hit him all over again. He had prided himself on being so careful to be mindful of the fragile line of their friendship for Thomas’ sake— but in a split second of impulsivity that he still couldn’t begin to explain to himself, he’d traded it all for something he didn’t even understand. All Jimmy knew was that he felt as though he’d left half of himself behind as well as Thomas when he’d run away.

 

 

After the first couple of days had passed in an utter turmoil where Jimmy felt too humiliated to even look Thomas in the eye, the loneliness overrode all else. He could no longer bring himself to feel angry about what had happened— whether that was anger at himself or at Thomas or just at the unknown— because the longing for things to return to how they had been eclipsed all else. It had taken the wreckage of everything for Jimmy to realise just how much it had all meant; how he had never experienced the kind of pure, simple and unadulterated happiness that he had in the past few weeks with Thomas and all their questions. He desperately wanted to fix things, but didn’t even know how to begin.

 

He didn’t dare speak to Thomas, because whenever he looked at him, Thomas merely looked right through him as though he didn’t exist. Jimmy had lost their game of questions, and felt he no longer had the right to speak to Thomas as a result, especially when Thomas had given so much of himself only to be abandoned. _I don’t remember vowing to tell you all my worldly secrets the moment we became friends_ , Thomas had said to him once, and yet he had anyway. And Jimmy hadn’t run away with them all and given nothing in return.

 

Apart from anything else, Jimmy simple didn’t know what he would say to Thomas; apologies felt too much like a guise for explanations, and he Jimmy couldn’t give Thomas an explanation because he couldn’t even explain what had happened to himself. All he knew was that he had never felt more alone in his life, and he missed Thomas so much that it physically hurt. He smoked on his own late at night in the solitude of his room, and woke up every morning from restless dreams of rainstorms with a sore throat from the smoke that had lingered in his room overnight.

 

Jimmy had tried to fill the gaping hole of loneliness with other people’s company, which should have been easy in a house so full of people— but it didn’t really work. It just reminded him of how little he understood them all and vice versa, and of how utterly and wonderfully different it had been with Thomas. But the bustle and chatter of other people was better than nothing at all, because it at least distracted him from the myriad of thoughts which were crammed into his mind, making his head throb with unanswered questions.

 

It was for this reason that he’d agreed to go into Ripon with Ivy on Thursday morning, not because he’d actually wanted to. It was simply better than the alternative of wishing he was spending his day off with Thomas instead and knowing that would never be possible again due to his own foolishness.

 

All traces of snow had melted now, despite the fact it was still in the depths of January. It hadn’t snowed again since the day of the rainstorm; instead, the sky was full of bitterly grey clouds which made it so that the day never seemed to get properly light and the gap between dawn and dusk was brief. Ripon was a vision of grey, from the slick wet pavements to the bleak, heavy sky that speckled the streets with a murky drizzle.

 

“You’re awful quiet, Jimmy,” Ivy’s voice roused Jimmy from his thoughts, tinged with irritation, and Jimmy suddenly realised that she’d been talking ever since they’d got off the train, and yet he’d barely said a word to acknowledge her conversation.

 

“Just got a bit of a cold, that’s all,” Jimmy mumbled distractedly, drawing his coat more closely around himself in attempt to numb the chill, not quite meeting Ivy’s gaze. “I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t look it,” Ivy frowned anxiously, tucking her arm through Jimmy’s. The contact made his skin prickle with irritation, but he couldn’t be bothered to protest. “You’ve not looked well for a while— you’re awful peaky and pale. You should have some of that hot lemon and honey Mrs. Patmore makes when we get back, you don’t want to get a throat infection or anything and have to take time off, because you know what Mr. Carson’s like.”

 

Jimmy nodded absent-mindedly without really listening. It was drizzling slightly: a fine mist of rain that soaked through the thin fabric of his coat and made him feel emptier than ever.

 

“You are sure you’re alright?” Ivy persisted, squeezing Jimmy’s arm.

 

“I’m fine,” Jimmy said again, as though by repeating it would somehow make it true. He had always prided himself on being a skilful liar, but he could tell that with this one, he hadn’t even managed to convince Ivy, who was painfully gullible.

 

“At least Mr. Barrow seems to have stopped hanging round you,” Ivy said brightly, utterly unaware of the significance of her words. “I don’t know why you let him in the first place, he says the most horrible things about Alfred, you know. And poor Moleslay, and the rest of them too.”

 

“I thought you didn’t care about Alfred,” Jimmy said bleakly, trying to ignore the rest of what she’d said simply because he didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t explain even the half of it to someone like Ivy who just didn’t understand at all.

 

“Of course I do,” Ivy exclaimed, grip tightening on Jimmy’s arm. “But not as much as I care about you, Jimmy. I was awful worried about you when you were friendly with him, you know.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘friendly’?” Jimmy asked abruptly, heart rate increasing with panic. He turned to look at her, but was merely met with confused chocolate brown eyes and a naïve expression.

 

Ivy frowned at him, looking perplexed. “Well, you were always taking smoke breaks together and talking at supper.”

 

Jimmy relaxed a little, and swallowed guiltily. “Yeah, well. Do you mind if we talk about something else?”

 

“Of course,” Ivy smiled, shaking off her brief look of confusion and beginning to tell Jimmy all about some new play she and Daisy were trying to persuade Mrs. Patmore to give them time off to go and see the following month. Jimmy let the conversation wash over him along with the rain, grateful for the white noise that at least somewhat dulled his painful thoughts.

 

By the time they’d had lunch in a dank little pub near the river and walked round more of the stalls, Jimmy’s feet were aching and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and forget everything.

 

“Do you mind if we pop into the grocer’s before we head home?” Ivy asked, smiling naively, her arm still hooked through Jimmy’s. “Only I promised Mrs. Patmore I’d get her some oranges for zesting. You wouldn’t believe the puddings she’s making for this weekend! She’s got Daisy and me working like slaves, and no doubt Daisy will be the one that gets all the credit as usual. Not that I mind, of course, but it would be nice to get a little bit of appreciation sometimes.”

 

Jimmy hummed vaguely, letting Ivy drag him out of the chilly rain and into the comparative warmth of the greengrocer’s just off the high street. Jimmy hovered near the door as she picked out the oranges, his gaze wandering to the tobacco behind the counter. _The first one to back out buys the other a month’s supply of cigarettes_ , his own words echoed in his head from months previously, when he’d been trying to convince Thomas to answer his questions, and a weight of sadness descended on his already heavy heart. He’d never imagined he would be the one to back out, and yet he was the one who had run away from Thomas’ question and not looked back.

 

“Ready, Jimmy?” Ivy’s tentative voice broke through his thoughts, and he blinked, looking round to see her carrying a small brown paper bag of oranges.

 

Jimmy paused, torn. “Just a moment,” he said suddenly on a whim, crossing towards the counter.

 

“What can I do for you?” the greengrocer asked politely, pausing from counting out the loose change Ivy had just given him.

 

“Twelve boxes of Marlboro cigarettes please,” Jimmy replied quietly, fumbling in his pocket for change as the greengrocer raised their eyebrows slightly, and Ivy looked dumbfounded, no doubt because she had never seen him smoke a single cigarette and now he was buying a dozen boxes of them. Jimmy only had just enough coins in his pocket to pay for them, and it used up the last of his wages, but it was with a bleak sense of duty that he left the shop, the cigarettes wrapped up in a paper bag and tucked inside his jacket to protect them from the rain.

 

 

~

 

 

 

It took Jimmy until late that evening to pluck up the courage to leave the cigarettes in Thomas’ room. He had initially imagined giving them to Thomas in person and Thomas smiling at him and it being the beginning of things slowly going back to normal, but when Thomas had blanked him completely at dinner, Jimmy knew that he was being hopeless to imagine that a few boxes of cigarettes would fix what he’d done. So he waited until Thomas had gone upstairs to tend to his valet duties, and then hurried upstairs to his room to retrieve the cigarettes where he’d set them carefully on his dresser. For a moment, he traced the paper bag sadly, remembering all the smoke breaks he had shared with Thomas along with the questions, but then shook himself out of it and left his room, his heart feeling heavier than ever.

 

After ensuring that the corridor was deserted, Jimmy slipped into Thomas’ room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. The room was dark, the curtains undrawn so that the night spilled unabashed into its interior, the moon’s dim light frail and vulnerable where it traced the shapes of the furniture, making it look as though no one had set foot in the room for a hundred years. Jimmy was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sadness as he stared at the spot where had sat on the floor with Thomas, sharing wine and secrets. He was vividly reminded of the time Thomas had shown Jimmy the scars on his hand, and how Jimmy had felt so awful for overstepping the mark between them— but that paled utterly in comparison to now.

 

 _I suppose it’s a fair enough price to pay for being your friend_ , Thomas had said to him the day of the harvest fair, when they’d walked back in the cold, clear darkness. The shadows of the room suddenly made the loss of their friendship seem excruciatingly real, to the extent that Jimmy felt as though he was choking on it. Blindly, he threw the cigarettes onto Thomas’ neatly made bed and stumbled from the room, only to collide with someone coming into it.

 

He didn’t need to look up to recognise the heady combination of cologne and smoke that made his chest ache. Thomas was standing in front of him, silhouetted by the light in the hallway so that his expression was shadowed and unreadable. Jimmy felt as though his heart had stopped.

 

“What are you doing in here?”

 

When Thomas spoke, his voice was slightly hoarse, as though he hadn’t used it for a long time. The familiar sound of it made Jimmy’s heart ache for all their late night conversations and questions. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Thomas’ eye for fear that he might see nothing there.

 

“I— nothing,” Jimmy stammered, heart pounding as he remembered the last time they’d stood so close. Thomas appeared to be thinking along the same lines, because he stepped back, the hard line of his clenched jaw visible in the shadows the hall light was throwing into the room.

 

Jimmy glanced up fleetingly when Thomas didn’t say anything further. Fleetingly, he’d wondered if the blankness of the other man’s expression might make it all harder to remember, but it only served to emphasise it so painfully that Jimmy felt as though it burned to look at him because he could see his betrayal so clearly in the other man’s gaze. It was the first time he’d seen Thomas close up for weeks, and he saw properly how awful the older man looked; Jimmy could see his own sleepless nights reflected in the dark circles shadowing Thomas’ eyes which were the grey ashes of once brilliant fires that had been extinguished.

 

For once, Thomas didn’t look away, merely let Jimmy stare back at him until Jimmy could no longer bear it. It was then that he knew he’d hurt Thomas more than he had ever done before, even before they’d become friends when Jimmy had tried to get him fired without a reference.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy whispered, finding that he had never meant the two words more. Then he fled, pushing past Thomas so that he no longer had to look at the agonising impassivity on the other man’s face that was somehow worse than anger or hatred or fear or misery all put together.

 

Jimmy had to swallow fiercely to keep at bay the lump in his throat as he closed his bedroom door behind him and sunk down onto the floor, feeling as though the door at his back was the only thing holding him upright. It was the sole solid point, the only thing keeping him grounded: everything else swum around him, as though the world as he knew had had stopped spinning the moment he’d run away.

 

After everyone else had gone up to bed, Jimmy lay in bed for hours, eyes wide open, listening to the silence of the house around him and wondering if Thomas was lying awake too, feeling even half as lonely as he was. The thoughts and questions and answers he knew he had but couldn’t fully comprehend swum dizzyingly round and round his head on an endless loop until he sat up and flicked on his bedside lamp, the soft glow illuminating the darkened room.

 

On his bedside table sat the sheet music duets Thomas had bought for him in London, weighed down by the solitary packet of cigarettes Jimmy smoked from every night. Tentatively, Jimmy picked up one of the sheets and traced his fingers over the swirling black notes, remembering how happy he’d felt that day when they’d sat in the snow of the park and how Thomas would forgive him anything. Anything but this, it seemed. Jimmy thought of playing duets on the piano in the servants’ hall with Thomas; how they’d ended up laughing so hard they couldn’t play and how Jimmy had marvelled at how he’d never seen Thomas laugh like that with anyone else.

 

Jimmy stared at the silent music until his eyes blurred and the only thought left in his head was that somehow, he had to fix it no matter what it took.

 

 

 

~

 

 

Despite the fact he’d barely had more than four hours sleep, Jimmy was dressed and sitting anxiously at the table in the servants’ hall just before six the following morning, still studying the duets. He was just wondering how he could possibly begin to make things right with Thomas when someone set a steaming cup of tea down in front of him and he looked up in surprise to see Anna holding a cup and saucer of her own and smiling.

 

“Thanks,” Jimmy mumbled blearily, taking a sip of the scalding, sweet liquid that somehow managed to somewhat numb the scratchy tired feeling behind his eyes.

 

“I’m up early to prepare things for Lady Mary’s trip to London and you looked like you needed it,” Anna said, pulling out the chair beside him and sitting down. “You’ve not been yourself at all these past few weeks, Jimmy.”

 

The tea suddenly stuck in his throat, and Jimmy found himself having to blink away tears at the kindness in Anna’s voice. “I don’t deserve your sympathy,” he said roughly, taking a large mouthful of tea even though it burnt his mouth.

 

“Maybe not, but being horrible to you is hardly going to make things better now is it?” Anna asked gently, smiling slightly. “You know, people don’t know what you’re feeling unless you tell them somehow. No one’s a mind reader.”

 

“But what if you don’t know what you’re feeling?” Jimmy asked bleakly, taking another gulp of tea and setting the cup back down in the saucer before glancing up at Anna. “I’ve made such a mess of things, Anna.”

 

“It’s never too late to try and fix it,” Anna replied softly, eyes full of warmth. “The worst thing to do is nothing at all.”

 

“I don’t know where to begin,” Jimmy admitted, tracing the rim of his teacup with an index finger. Silence fell between them for a moment, broken only by the clink of china.

 

“What’s the music?” Anna asked after a moment, startling Jimmy out of his exhausted trance. She was peering at the sheet music Jimmy had spread out on the table. “You’d better make sure it’s put away before Mr. Carson’s down,” she added.

 

“Duets,” Jimmy mumbled, taking a sip of tea and glancing up at her. “Mr. Barrow bought them for me when he was in London because I was trying to get him to play them with me.”

 

“I didn’t know that Thomas played,” Anna said in mild surprise.

 

“Only a little,” Jimmy replied quietly, setting his teacup back down on the saucer. “And we’ve never played these ones.”

 

Anna paused for a moment, drinking her tea and looking at the music. “Thomas is in the boot room preparing Lord Grantham’s tailcoats for London,” she said slowly, and Jimmy felt his heart leap in his chest, “If you wanted to speak to him. I’m sure it’s not too late to ask again.”

 

Jimmy’s heart was beating so fast he could barely hear his own thoughts as he stared at Anna for a moment before stumbling to his feet, leaving the sheet music forgotten on the table. He stopped for a moment in the doorway of the servants’ hall, turning to look back at Anna who was finishing her tea.

 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, and Anna just smiled as though she understood the true weight of the two words.

 

All the way to the boot room, possible questions and apologies raced through Jimmy’s head at the prospect of trying to speak to Thomas, making him feel dizzy. By the time he paused outside his heart was thumping so hard he could feel the blood pounding in his ears and felt sick with anxiety. He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

 

Thomas looked up from where he was brushing down Lord Grantham’s tailcoat, unguarded surprise registering on his face before it shut down into complete impassivity when he saw Jimmy, instantly dropping his gaze back to the tailcoat. The only thing the masterful façade didn’t hide was his tired, bloodshot eyes that made his eyes look greyer than ever against the red.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barrow, truly,” Jimmy blurted out abruptly, and Thomas looked up from the tailcoat, seemingly appalled at Jimmy’s sudden acknowledgement of what had happened. “This week has been so awful, and I just feel terrible for— for how I behaved. I feel badly, and I don’t want what I did to ruin everything,” Jimmy stammered out all in a rush, barely in control of the desperate words spilling off his tongue.

 

“Its fine,” Thomas said blankly, folding up the coat.

 

“But it’s _not_ , is it?” Jimmy argued. “We don’t speak anymore.”

 

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Thomas said quietly, stowing the brush back under the table. “You made it perfectly clear. I’m just doing what you want.”

 

“That’s not what I want!” Jimmy exclaimed. 

 

“Then what do you want, Jimmy?” Thomas asked, his gaze imploringly grey. It reminded Jimmy of pouring rain and made his heart ache poignantly behind his ribs.

 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Jimmy replied desperately, pushing a hand through his hair. “All I know is that I can’t stand not talking to you.”

 

“Perhaps it’s simplest,” Thomas said impassively, although his eyes were shadowed with sadness as he uttered the words.

 

“Mr. Barrow, please,” Jimmy protested, grabbing Thomas’ sleeve and preventing him from leaving. Thomas froze as though Jimmy’s touch scalded him, and Jimmy instantly felt a wave of guilt. Hastily, he let go, but did not step away from the door. “This last month has been so awful. _I_ feel awful. Please, Thomas, can we just go back to being friends?”

 

For the first time since the night Jimmy had run away, Thomas looked at him properly. His eyes were grey and blazing like they had been then, weighed down by heavy dark circles. For several moments, he stared unfalteringly at Jimmy, as if somehow daring him to look away. Jimmy could feel the thump of his heart in his chest, feeling as though Thomas could see everything that Jimmy couldn’t quite grasp but already knew and piece it all together in front of him.

 

“Friends?” Thomas repeated quietly at last, his expression unreadable. He paused, as though steeling himself for an ordeal. Then the smallest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, melting the rigidness of his forced expression. “I think I can manage that, Jimmy,” he said quietly, echoing the words Jimmy had said to him all those months ago when the sun was high in the humid sky and Thomas’ face was a constellation of cuts and bruises.

 

Jimmy felt as though the weight in his chest had been lifted, his heart soaring, and he couldn’t stifle the huge smile that broke out across his face. “Thank you, Thomas,” he grinned breathlessly, echoing the words Thomas had said back to him back when Jimmy’s head had been full of answers he’d never bothered to question, and might never have done if it hadn’t been for the man standing in front of him. “Thank you.”

 

This time, Thomas’ answering smile was slightly wider and less tinged with sadness, although the degree of it that had always been there when he looked at Jimmy lingered. He still looked pale and drawn, but somehow less exhausted and more as Jimmy knew him. He no longer looked like he wanted to escape.

 

“Can we go back to questions?” Jimmy asked, barely daring to hope. He felt as though he could finally breathe again for the first time since he’d run away, and his heart was light in his chest as though it had been freed.

 

“Is that really how you’re going to use your one of the day?” Thomas asked lightly, but the smile was still playing at the corners of his mouth, and Jimmy couldn’t but help let out a shaky, grateful laugh.

 

“I’ll need to think of a good one,” Jimmy smiled, unable to contain it.

 

“You will,” Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly. “But you’ve got a little while, because I have the entire morning’s chores to get through first. Perhaps this evening— I seem to have rather a lot of cigarettes to get through and could use some help.”

 

Jimmy laughed, unable to stop smiling. He felt utterly overwhelmed with elation; he never thought he could have felt so grateful to hear someone else’s voice and see their smile. But then again, he never thought he would meet someone like Thomas— someone he felt as though he knew almost better than he knew himself.

 

“Jimmy,” Thomas said more quietly, pausing at the door so that they were standing inches apart and Jimmy could taste the heady aroma of Thomas’ cologne and the lingering smell of smoke that still made his chest ache, but somehow in a subtly different way. Thomas’ eyes were resignedly grey, full of sadness as he looked at him. “You do know it won’t change.”

 

“What won’t?” Jimmy blinked, fear gripping at his chest so it was suddenly more difficult to breathe again.

 

“That I love you,” Thomas said softly, sadly, in a way that was utterly resigned. It wasn’t asking anything of Jimmy or wishing for change, it was simply stating bleak, irrevocable fact.

 

Jimmy’s heart beat faster at the words that he had known all along, but somehow still suddenly seemed much more real when they filled the small space between them. They were standing so close that Jimmy could feel the sadness radiating from the other man and feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek.

 

“I know,” Jimmy murmured quietly after several beats. He was close enough see how the grey of Thomas’ eyes was infused with minute flecks of brown and how their pupils expanded slightly when Jimmy didn’t move away, but slowly, tentatively leant up to trace the dark circles beneath them with his fingertips, as if to brush them away. Thomas’ skin was soft and warm under his hand, and Jimmy once again felt lost in a kind of trance at the proximity, somehow unable to stop himself.

 

He heard Thomas’ slight intake of breath at the contact, and felt slightly breathless himself, as if all the air had somehow vanished from the boot room. Then gently, Thomas reached up and took Jimmy’s hand away, his lightly callused fingers lingering on it for a moment before he let it go, leaving a tiny gap between them that somehow made Jimmy feel as though they were closer than ever. Thomas smiled in a way that was almost too tender for him, although it was stained with an underlying sadness that reached his shadowed eyes.

 

“Remember to think of your question,” he said softly, and then the door was shut behind him, leaving Jimmy standing alone in the boot room with his heart pounding and pounding as though it would never stop until it was free.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can never seem to help myself,” Jimmy murmured, half dreamily. “When I’m with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the last chapter, and for all your patience on this story! The next chapter's the last one, I can't believe how fast this has gone, ahhhhhh. I'd like to say a massive thank you Linkworshipper for being generally amazing and beta-ing this chapter for me, it improved it a hell of a lot, haha. I very much hope you all enjoy the chapter, and as always, feedback makes me super happy! <3

Dusk had long since fallen by the time that Jimmy managed to slip out into the yard alone. The coldness of the night stung his skin, and fragile frost glittered on the cobblestones, where faded, yellow light spilled out from the open doorway behind him. Jimmy’s eyes found Thomas instantly, seeking out the older man where he was leaning against the stone wall near the gate, smoke spiralling from between his fingers as he stared up at the unfathomable sky, the sharp lines of his face throwing his expression into shadow. Even although he couldn’t see it clearly, Jimmy was struck immediately and painfully by the immeasurable sadness that seemed to linger around Thomas where he stood, as intangible as the smoke from his forgotten cigarette— only it didn’t fade when he let out a breath.

 

Somehow, Jimmy felt more nervous than he had that morning in the boot room, when he’d faced Thomas properly for the first time in the weeks since he’d run away. Swallowing, he carefully closed the door behind him and crossed the yard to where Thomas stood, his footsteps crunching lightly on the frost that was no longer visible now that he’d shut the door. When Thomas glanced up at the sound of his approach, the frail light of the winter moon threw his expression into the light so that Jimmy could see, with painstaking clarity, the complete ambivalence of sadness and happiness  his grey eyes held as they looked at him.

 

“Hello,” Jimmy said uncertainly, hating how his voice wavered on the single word, betraying his nervousness. He’d barely even passed Thomas in the corridors since that morning, but he’d thought of him so often and vividly that it was almost as though he’d been with him all day. Only now that he was faced with the real Thomas, standing before him in the silence of the darkened yard, Jimmy felt at a loss for what to say. He was suddenly painfully aware of how the last time they’d stood this close, he’d traced the line of Thomas’ clenched jaw as though half in a dream. The ghost of it burned his fingertips and cheeks with the memory.

 

Thomas appeared to be either oblivious to Jimmy’s apprehension or deciding to ignore it; he simply handed Jimmy the cigarette he had been holding by a way of greeting and moved aside slightly so there was room for Jimmy to lean against the wall beside him. Gratefully, Jimmy took the cigarette and put it to his mouth, more as a distraction than as anything else.

 

For a while, they simply stood in a silence that felt to Jimmy as poignant as the few sole stars that pierced the lonely January sky. Smoke curled from between Jimmy’s slightly parted lips as he stared out into the night, trying to identify the point where the visible merged with the impenetrable darkness, but found it impossible: the more he stared, the more the shadows and shapes all seemed to meld together and mean less. An owl hooted somewhere in the gardens, its solitary call resonating through the black, velvety silence which Jimmy was trying to fathom.

 

“You look tired, Thomas remarked quietly, his voice surprising Jimmy— they’d been quiet so long that he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t alone. Jimmy looked up to realise that Thomas had been watching him study the darkness. The idea made his cheeks heat up, as though if by simply watching, Thomas had somehow been able to see the thoughts as they passed across his face, as plaintive as clouds across a clear summer sky.

 

“I am tired,” Jimmy replied truthfully, taking one more drag of the cigarette before handing it back, flinching slightly at the split second of contact where Thomas’ touch was as warm and all-consuming as he remembered.

 

“Why?” Thomas asked calmly, seemingly unaffected. He put the cigarette to his lips, but did not take a drag from it straight away, pausing as though he was waiting for Jimmy’s reply. The smoke coiled up into the night air, smudging the moonlight.

 

Jimmy shrugged uncomfortably, scuffing his foot against the icy cobbled stones at their feet, where they’d stood so often before on days when Jimmy hadn’t feared the answers to the questions he desperately wanted to ask. “It’s been a long day,” he said eventually, in what was only half a lie— but his voice was strained, too small to stretch around it, and Thomas looked wholly unconvinced.

 

His eyebrows arched slightly, cheeks momentarily hollowed around the drag of his cigarette. “It’s always a long day,” he returned blithely, flicking ash to the frozen ground. “But that doesn’t usually make you look as though you’ve barely slept.”

 

“I haven’t,” Jimmy confessed awkwardly, dropping his gaze so that he could forget that Thomas looked, if anything, as though he’d had even fewer hours sleep. Although the bleak impassivity had faded somewhat after Jimmy’s confrontation that morning, the dark shadows and drawn complexion lingered about the other man, a reminder to Jimmy that what he’d done was not something that could be reversed with a mere few words.

 

“How come?” Thomas pressed, his voice slightly softened, but to such a small degree that Jimmy knew probably no one but him would detect the difference. Then again, he supposed, no one else would probably hear it besides him. He could feel Thomas’ eyes on him, but found he could not bring himself to look up and meet the gaze that he knew would disarm him.

 

Jimmy did not want to answer, but he knew that he would give the reply to any question posed him now that he knew what the alternative was.

 

_Sometimes you don’t realise you have anything to lose— until you lose it_ , Jimmy remembered Thomas telling him months ago when their game of questions had been simple and had clarified things rather than complicated them. Too many answers blurred the question, Jimmy found, until he no longer knew what he was searching for and was surrounded with misplaced information.

 

He paused, taking his time over the cigarette in his mouth as he considered how to respond when his own thoughts were so muddled he felt blind. Overhead, the few solitary winter stars glittered like petrified snowflakes, the true versions of the miniature granules of frost that glittered at their feet.

 

“I was thinking about you,” Jimmy admitted at last, his words getting caught in the smoke. He did not look up, but continued to stare at the way the light from the stars reflected onto the icy ground as he took the cigarette from between his lips and handed it back to Thomas. The other man’s fingers felt shockingly warm in contrast to the frozen air when Jimmy’s hand brushed against them, flushing his cheeks.

 

“Why was that?” Thomas asked, his tone as cool and measured as ever around the cigarette, though Jimmy could feel the way that he’d tensed slightly where their shoulders touched lightly against the wall.

 

Jimmy shifted uneasily, hands in the pockets of his trousers as he gazed up at the stars, finding them less intense than Thomas’ gaze. He did not feel as though they could make him lose himself. “I couldn’t rightly say, Mr. Barrow.”

 

Thomas did not respond for a time. Instead, he remained silent, casting ash to the frosty ground, where Jimmy watched the tiny flecks of red ember become extinguished by the cold. He couldn’t but help feel uncomfortably aware of Thomas’ body heat from where they stood closely together, shoulders touching in the darkness. It made Jimmy shift uneasily, but he wasn’t sure whether he was trying to move closer to it or further away. The silence amplified everything. The soft smell of pomade and sharp smoke that mingled with the night was such a familiar scent, yet it made Jimmy’s heart rush in his chest as though he’d never experienced it before.

 

Just when Jimmy felt as though he would burst from the silence, he felt a light brush of fingers against his. He looked up in shock, only to realise that Thomas was simply passing the cigarette, and somehow got caught in the other man’s heavy, grey gaze as he took it. Jimmy swallowed: his words were lodged in his throat but he desperately wanting to say something— anything— to diffuse the intensity.

 

“I— I was feeling badly about how I acted,” Jimmy blurted out to give himself an excuse to drop his gaze, although his heart continued to race as if he was still locked into Thomas’ gaze even as he stared at the frozen ground. He felt his cheeks heat up at the memory of the incident in the servants’ hall all those weeks ago, but also of the memory of all those nights where he’d lain awake since, unable to rid himself of the memory of Thomas’ lips on his— lips which were at that very moment clouded by wisps of smoke from the cigarette which they encircled.

 

“And,” Jimmy swallowed, forcing himself to look away from the way that Thomas’ cheeks were hollowed around his inhalation, emphasising the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “I was thinking about what you were saying before.”

 

“What was that?” Thomas asked coolly, exhaling slowly.

 

“That I don’t make it easy for you to be friends with me,” Jimmy mumbled, staring at the frost he’d muddied with his feet, scrubbing its clarity against the cobbles so that he didn’t have to look at Thomas.

 

“You don’t,” Thomas replied, softly.

 

“Am I a good person?” Jimmy asked all in a rush, the words mingling with his exhalation in the night air before them. The question had never been something which he had considered up until the past several weeks. Before, he had never cared enough about anyone beyond himself to make it relevant. But now, standing in the frigid January darkness of the yard with Thomas leaning beside him as though he were part of his shadow, the air full of smoke and questions, Jimmy suddenly found that it was. And that, perhaps, it had been weighing on his mind for longer than he’d realised.

 

Thomas cocked his head slightly, regarding Jimmy with curiosity. “You never struck me as someone who would care either way.”

 

“Does that mean I’m not?” Jimmy pressed, finding himself to be anxious of the reply.

 

“I don’t think a bad person would ask that question,” Thomas said simply, and Jimmy didn’t know whether or not to feel appeased by the slight depersonalisation of the answer. “And,” Thomas continued, taking a brief drag of his cigarette. “I don’t think good and bad is all so black and white, anyway.”

 

“But am I a good person to you?” Jimmy insisted, his heart thumping. Thomas’ eyes were the same grey the rain had been on the day he’d run away. “I don’t care about all the rest, Mr. Barrow.”

 

Thomas regarded him for a moment, the grey in his eyes softened slightly like ice that was beginning to melt. “Yes,” he replied quietly. “I wouldn’t want you any different.”

 

Heat burned at Jimmy’s cheeks from the unguarded intensity of Thomas’ gaze, and he forced himself to look away for fear that if he did not he would forget himself all over again and do something to hurt the other man. Instead, they continued to smoke in a slightly softer silence for a time, as Jimmy pondered Thomas’ reply and wondered what it was that he was still missing— what he _always_ felt as though he was missing. It was as though there was something he could constantly see in his peripheral vision, but whenever he turned to look at it, it disappeared. Overhead, the stars seemed to gleam even more brightly in the coldness of the night that surrounded them. 

 

“Do you ever ask yourself the true meaning behind all these questions?” Thomas asked suddenly, breaking the silence with one of his own. Jimmy looked up to find the other man’s eyes already on him, unreadable and curious. Not for the first time, he felt as though Thomas was somehow asking him a question that he already knew the answer to, and was merely asking it because Jimmy didn’t.

 

“No,” Jimmy admitted quietly. The word felt like a defeat. 

 

Thomas dropped the end of his cigarette to the ground and crushed it into the frost with the heel of his shoe. His parting smile was sincere but tinged indelibly with unquestionable sadness, and his footsteps left imprints in the frost as he went back inside, leaving Jimmy standing alone in the cold with an ache in his chest that he didn’t know the reason for.

 

 

~

 

 

 

When Jimmy eventually left the bitter darkness of the yard long after Thomas had departed, the servants’ hall was almost empty and the lamps burned low, casting long shadows across the room. Only Ivy, Anna and Thomas remained; the first two were both nursing cups of cocoa at the table, Ivy engrossed in a magazine and Anna darning, while Thomas was seated alone by the dying fire, a newspaper spread across his lap, but his eyes on the flickering embers. Both Anna and Ivy smiled Jimmy’s way as he sat down at the end of the table closest to Thomas’ arm chair, the sudden heat of the fire making his hands burn after they’d been in the cold for so long.

 

“Are you going to the village show in Ripon tomorrow, Jimmy?” Ivy asked, setting down her cup of cocoa and turning to face him hopefully, magazine forgotten.

 

“What show?” Jimmy blinked, taken aback.

 

“There’s a talent show being put on to raise money for the village hospital and quite a few of us are going,” Ivy explained, smiling prettily. “Mrs. Hughes told us all about it last week, don’t you remember? You said you might come along.”

 

Jimmy mumbled something non-committal that Ivy could interpret either way she pleased, though in truth, he had no memory of Mrs. Hughes mentioning it at all. Last week, he’d been too lost in anything but his own head and how wretched Thomas looked to notice much else, but he didn’t feel like saying as much to Ivy.

 

“Do you think you’ll go?” Ivy prompted again, hopefully.

 

By the fire, Thomas was still staring into the depths of the flames as he lit a cigarette, the newspaper on his lap forgotten. The pomade in his hair was beginning to soften after a day’s work, giving him the slightly softer, more human look that reminded Jimmy of late nights in London or snowy skies and fields. It was the look that made his heart ache to see Thomas like that all the time, and to know it was partly his own fault that he didn’t.

 

“Jimmy?” This time, it was Anna’s gently probing voice that prompted Jimmy from his thoughts, making him look up from Thomas to realise that Ivy was still looking expectantly at him, awaiting an answer.

 

“No, I don’t think I feel much like it,” Jimmy replied hastily, shrugging in a way which he hoped was nonchalant. Inside, he could feel his heart thumping at the prospect of spending the evening with Thomas. He felt vaguely bad about the disappointment which flashed across Ivy’s face as she got up, folding up her magazine and gathering up her half-finished cup of cocoa.

 

“Well, goodnight then,” she said meekly, pausing in the doorway and casting a last wistful glance at Jimmy.

 

“Goodnight, Ivy,” Anna smiled, looking up from her darning.

 

Over by the fire, Thomas didn’t show any indication of hearing them, his gaze still fixed on the last few embers of the fire which had almost burnt out. Jimmy couldn’t help but be reminded of the night he’d come down to the servants’ hall to find Thomas sitting in that exact spot, only he’d looked so unguarded and vulnerable on that night in comparison to how he did now. Despite the fact he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and a few strands of inky hair flopped across his forehead, his expression remained closed and inscrutable. Jimmy felt a wave of sickening guilt, knowing that if it had not been for his own impulsivity and thoughtlessness, Thomas wouldn’t feel the need to hide away from him.

 

“Anything interesting in the paper?” Jimmy asked, more to have something to say to the other man rather than because he really wanted to know.

 

“Just tax cuts and people whining about Lloyd George,” Thomas replied dismissively, glancing around at Jimmy pulling his lighter from his pocket and putting a fresh cigarette between his lips. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

“Will you be going to that show Ivy was talking about tomorrow night?” Jimmy asked, when Thomas did not elaborate further. Out of the corner of his eye, he was vaguely aware that Anna was watching him.

 

“I’d rather polish everything in the silver cabinet,” Thomas said dryly, smoking unfurling from his mouth to follow the words.

 

Jimmy laughed, shifting slightly in his chair so that he was sitting facing opposite the other man, although Thomas still stared at the dwindling flames in the grate of the fire rather than at him. Jimmy found himself desperately wanting the other man to look up and meet his gaze properly, so that he might have the smallest clue of what was going through Thomas’ head. They were sitting together and talking as normal, but Jimmy knew deep down that something was off— that what he’d done had altered something irreversibly between them. What he couldn’t work out was whether it was something in himself, or in Thomas, or in both of them.

 

“You’re looking awfully serious,” Thomas’ casual remark brought Jimmy out of his thoughts, and he found that Thomas’ grey eyes were on his as he’d wanted— only it didn’t clarify anything as he’d wanted, but seemed to cloud everything instead. He couldn’t see anything past the unfathomable wall of grey, only minute pools of his own reflection in the black of Thomas’ pupils.

 

“Am I?” Jimmy asked, frowning and looking away uneasily with burning cheeks as he remembered how he had reacted the last time he’d caught sight of his own unrecognisable reflection there.

 

Thomas inclined his head slightly in a nod, smoke unfurling from his mouth as he flicked ash towards the grate in a fluid, elegant movement.

 

“I was just thinking,” Jimmy admitted, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.

 

“Dare I ask what about?” Thomas asked evenly, taking a final drag of his cigarette and tossing the end into the glowing, dwindling embers of the fire.

 

Jimmy hesitated, considering the question and finding that he couldn’t pin down what he was thinking. His head was full of everything that had come before the past month; of gradually getting to see Thomas without the defensive façade, of wondering at how little he truly knew himself. Thomas’ injured hand lay upturned on the arm of the chair, reminding Jimmy how Thomas had shown him what he had trusted no one else with; how he had trusted Jimmy to see everything and take away what he wanted for answers to the questions he’d craved. He wanted to tell Thomas how much that had meant to him, how the past several weeks had been the worst of his life; how he had never thought he would come to rely so much on another person.

 

“I’m glad we’re friends again,” Jimmy said eventually instead, because it was the truth and it seemed to cover best what he felt but couldn’t fully articulate.

 

Thomas regarded him closely for several moments. “Me too,” he said quietly, and this time when he looked at Jimmy in the warm light of the dying fire, there was nothing hidden.

 

 

~

 

 

 

Jimmy slept badly again. He tossed and turned into the early hours of the morning, unable to get warm. Even though his head ached and his eyes were gritty with tiredness, he only managed to drift in and out of a troubled and fragmented sleep that was haunted by the pain in Thomas’ grey eyes the night Jimmy had pulled away and asked him to forget it all. Despite the fact that they were friends again, Jimmy still felt as though nothing had been resolved at all, and found himself consumed by feelings he couldn’t decipher and kept him restless until dawn.

 

He had slept so poorly that by the time dusk had fallen outside the following day, Jimmy’s head was throbbing and he felt he had never been more exhausted in his life, partially from lack of sleep and partially from the incessant thoughts that ran on a seemingly endless loop through his mind night and day alike. Consequently, he couldn’t have been more grateful that the servants had been spared their evening duties to attend the show in the village hall.

 

As a result, most of the servants had donned their hats and coats straight after dinner and left with Mrs. Hughes to the village. Besides Thomas and Jimmy, only Alfred— who was in bed with a cold— remained behind with Mr. Carson, who was spending the evening upstairs in the gallery with silver polish and Lord Grantham’s medals. The silence of the servants’ hall was like music to Jimmy’s ears as he slumped down in the chair by the fire where Thomas had sat yesterday, letting his eyes flicker shut and the warmth wash over him, numbing his thoughts to nothingness.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the fire was still burning, and Thomas was sitting at the table, a newspaper spread out in front of him and his cigarette smouldering between his fingers. There was a cup and saucer of tea on the mantelpiece beside Jimmy, and when he leaned forwards to test it, he found that it was still hot.

 

“I thought you looked as though you needed it,” Thomas said as Jimmy took a tentative sip, making Jimmy glance up long enough to throw Thomas a grateful smile before setting the teacup back down and pushing his slightly tousled hair out of his eyes.

 

“How long was I out?” he asked, his voice slightly roughened from sleep. He shifted to sit up properly in the chair so that he was facing Thomas where he sat alone at the table, smoking.

 

“An hour or so. I didn’t want to disturb you, I could see you needed the sleep,” Thomas shrugged. He turned a page of the newspaper, but Jimmy could tell that his focus was no longer on the printed words.

 

“Thanks,” he replied honestly, taking a bigger mouthful of tea and letting the sweet warmth of it numb the throbbing pain in his head, which had already lessened slightly from the sleep. “Is it just us, then?” Jimmy asked thoughtlessly, and then instantly regretted the weight that his words seemed to hold.

 

However, only the slight tension in Thomas’ jaw betrayed any discomfort he might feel as he nodded stiffly, tapping ash into the tray in front of him. The smoke from his exhalation coiled out into the warm, dimly lit room and faded before either of them spoke again. Instead, they sat in a silence which was heavy and full of unspoken sentiments, Jimmy staring into the flickering depths of the fire and remembered at how he’d watched the flames flicker in Thomas’ icy eyes months back when Thomas had bandaged his hand. The quiet did not feel uncomfortable; it felt more as though it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. However, after a while, Jimmy found it too intense, and rose restlessly from his chair to cross to the piano. There was no music on the stand, and the keys looked slightly dusty; he hadn’t played for weeks and was the only one out of the servants who did.

 

After a while, it felt too intense, and Jimmy rose restlessly from his chair to cross to the piano. There was no music on the stand, and the keys looked slightly dusty; he hadn’t played for weeks and he was the only one who did.

 

“Do you mind if I play?” Jimmy asked uncertainly, breaking the silence. He hovered indecisively by the piano as Thomas looked up, expression full of something undecipherable as he took a drag of his cigarette.

 

“Why would I?” he asked after a moment, his voice soft around the smoke. It betrayed no emotion, but there was none of the malice or spite in his tone unlike when he frequently talked to others. Jimmy took it as a yes, and sat down at the instrument, a warmth filling him at the prospect of playing it again. Tentatively, he ran his fingers up the keys, brushing away the thin layer of dust as he did so.

 

“We never played those piano duets you bought me when we were in London,” Jimmy remarked after playing a couple of jazz movements he’d dug out from the sheet music stacked on top of the piano, idly playing a scale and looking up at Thomas to find that the other man’s eyes were already on him, faraway and contemplative. Their intent weight somehow made Jimmy’s heart beat faster in his chest and his cheeks burn, as though he had been the one caught staring.

 

“We didn’t,” Thomas rejoined evenly, putting the cigarette to his lips. His eyes were on the paper before him again, but Jimmy could tell that he wasn’t really reading it.

 

“We could now,” Jimmy suggested, hoping that perhaps doing so might help him forget the little niggling feeling in the back of his mind that things still weren’t the same as they were before, and possibly never would be again. In the pause of Thomas’ silence, the fire crackled, flames licking at the grate. Jimmy felt as though his heartbeat was audible to both of them. “If you felt like it, I mean,” he added feebly into the silence, thinking of how they’d played duets before Christmas until they’d both been laughing so hard they couldn’t play any longer. Jimmy found his heart aching to see Thomas like that again; to always see him like that.

 

“I’d need a bit of practice before I was up to them,” Thomas replied dismissively after several moments, smoke curling in the air along with his answer. His eyes caught on Jimmy’s for a moment, guarded and uncertain, as though he wasn’t sure what Jimmy was truly asking of him.

 

“Why not practice now then?” Jimmy asked suddenly, turning round on the piano stool to face Thomas and look at him imploringly. “I could help. Plus, there’s no one to notice whether you’re doing it right or not, if that’s what you’re bothered about.”

 

Thomas hesitated, tapping ash into the tray on the table. His shadowed eyes were unreadable, just as they always were when he was uncertain, leaving Jimmy alone, and Jimmy knew it was his own fault. Then Thomas got up and handed his cigarette to Jimmy. “Go on, then.”

 

“Really?” Jimmy asked, unable to suppress a smile as Thomas came to sit beside him on the piano stool, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as Jimmy set out the right sheets in front of him. His expression was still carefully impassive, but his eyes had softened slightly, their icy grey less sharp. It was all too easy to think of the Thomas he had kissed like this. But maybe that was the Thomas he wanted to think of— he was more honest and real than any other, and after all, the one Jimmy had been trying to find all along.

                          

“If it means that much to you,” Thomas said impassively, but the smallest of smiles was pulling at his mouth, instantly softening his demeanour. Jimmy could feel the warmth of the other man’s thigh pressed against his own where they sat together, and forced himself to ignore the way his heart quickened in his chest at the sensation. “Only if you play it too.”

 

Thomas began to play snatches of the accompaniment Jimmy had pointed to, his hands elegant and graceful despite the slight uncertainty with which they moved across the ivory keys. The music soared through Jimmy, filling him with a happiness more complete than he had ever known. Every time his hand strayed near Thomas’, he found himself wanting to linger there, notes forgotten in the deep surge of affection he suddenly felt for the man beside him as he watched Thomas’ hands move in sync with his across the piano, the sound of their playing filling the room. When they were together, it almost made sense— or the closest to understanding Jimmy had ever known. A smile was spreading across his face before he could stop it, even as he tailed off to let Thomas play on his own, listening to the slightly hesitant cadence of the music that flowed from his fingertips. Every time he took a breath, Jimmy found his senses were filled with the familiar, tugging combination of cologne, pomade and smoke that made his pulse flutter.

 

“It was when I was playing the piano that I realised how little I knew about you. I was playing Chopin, remember, and you told me that it was what your mother used to play every night? And that was when I realised it was the first thing you’d ever told me about yourself, and I wanted to know more,” Jimmy told him, watching the way that Thomas’ long fingers became slightly more confident on the ivory keys as they moved up the E scale. “It bothered me so much, to think that I didn’t know you any better than I had done the day you took the beating for me at the fair.”

 

“And do you know me now?” Thomas asked quietly, his fingers pausing on the keys, the last notes he’d played lingering in the air.

 

Jimmy frowned, considering. He watched as Thomas began to play around with the chords of the second part for the duet. “Better than I did,” he conceded eventually, “but I feel as though knowing you has made me realise how little I know myself.”

 

“It’s not so difficult to know yourself,” Thomas replied, his hands becoming more uneasy on the keys as they attempted the second bar. He frowned, fingers stilling as he studied the music more closely.  

 

“Here, it’s just like sliding up into C minor,” Jimmy said, tentatively repositioning Thomas’ left hand, the feel of soft skin and hard leather familiar and unknown all at once. Realising he had let his grip linger a moment too long, Jimmy let go, wondering why he suddenly felt as though he was trying to catch his breath. “What were you saying?” he asked, in attempt to distract himself as Thomas began to play slowly again, his jaw set into a hard line which Jimmy couldn’t tell was due to concentration on the music or something else. “About knowing yourself.”

 

“It’s not so hard, if only you stop over-thinking it all,” Thomas responded, not looking up but remaining focused on the music in front of him. A stray strand of inky black hair fell forwards across his forehead, and Jimmy had to resist the urge to brush it away. “All the questions you’re asking— them in themselves will tell you far more about yourself than the answers you receive ever will.”

 

Jimmy didn’t know what to say to that, so he shifted closer on the piano stool and tentatively repositioned Thomas’ right hand where he was struggling to get to grips with the cadence at the end of the third bar. Thomas visibly tensed, and without thinking, Jimmy found himself tracing the lines of Thomas’ hand, feeling the raised lines where the sinews joined his wrist.

 

“But I just can’t think straight,” Jimmy murmured, curling his fingers around the vulnerable skin of Thomas’ wrist and feeling the way the blood raced beneath the pale skin. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

 

“Then stop thinking,” Thomas said, in what was almost a whisper. He didn’t lean into the touch of Jimmy’s exploratory fingers, but he didn’t pull away either, and when Jimmy glanced up, he caught a glimpse of the same rare, unadulterated hope he’d seen first when he’d gone to Thomas’ room on the day of the fair. It was outweighed by resigned sadness, but there all the same, undeniable like the stars in the sky. It was the first time Jimmy could remember having seen it since that day— or perhaps since he’d last been close enough to count the minuscule brown flecks in Thomas’ eyes like he could now, and watch them all get eaten up by depthless black pupil. It made him feel afraid and elated all at once, the intensity of each sensation increasing with each beat of his heart. 

 

“I’m afraid of what will happen if I do,” Jimmy admitted quietly, focusing on where his finger traced patterns on Thomas’ forearm so that he wouldn’t get lost in the other man’s gaze, knowing when he did there would be no hope of return. He was dimly aware of the fact that the music had stopped, the atmosphere replaced instead with a heavy intensity that prickled at Jimmy’s skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He could feel the weight of Thomas looking at him, but he still didn’t glance up to face it.

 

“Why?” Thomas asked, softly. Jimmy could hear the affection in his voice, unhidden, and it made his heart ache with a combination of guilt and something else that Jimmy couldn’t quite define, but overrode all else, making him look up and get lost in Thomas’ grey gaze. He trailed his fingertips up Thomas’ arm to trace the sharp line of his jaw, watching the way its muscles tightened under Jimmy’s touch.

 

“I can never seem to help myself,” Jimmy murmured, half dreamily. “When I’m with you,” he trailed off, running his fingertips so close to the shadow of Thomas’ bottom lip that he could feel its movement when Thomas spoke next.

 

“Then don’t,” Thomas’ voice was slightly hoarse, but it did not waver. His eyes were full of longing, but he still did not move under Jimmy’s touch as the latter shakily dropped his hand back down to Thomas’ forearm, circling the soft skin there until he could feel the way the pulse was thrumming away under Thomas’ wrist.

 

“You never really told me,” Jimmy traced the patterns on Thomas’ hand, breathless as though he was about to utter something profound, but barely aware of the words tumbling from his lips. “What it feels like to be in love.”

 

“You never told me why you wanted to know,” Thomas countered, his voice low as though he didn’t dare speak too loudly for fear of spooking Jimmy. He still didn’t move, just let Jimmy stroke the pale skin of his damaged hand.

 

Jimmy rubbed his thumb across Thomas’ wrist, just above the pulse. “Just,” he swallowed, his heart feeling as though it was stuck somewhere in his throat at the expression of sheer unguarded hope in Thomas’ expression. “Please.”

 

Thomas didn’t speak. Instead, he merely turned the hand that Jimmy was tracing, entangling their fingers, his touch gentle and surprisingly soft despite the calluses on his palm from years of work and smoking cigarettes. Jimmy’s breath hitched as Thomas slowly guided their hands upward to press them to his chest, where Jimmy could feel the other man’s heart thumping erratically beneath the stiff front of his livery, just as he could feel his own doing in the heavy silence that surrounded them. He found suddenly that, not only was he unable to look away from the intent and blazing grey of Thomas’ eyes, but that he didn’t want to until the pain had left them.

 

“Thomas,” Jimmy murmured, his thoughts swimming. The air between them felt electrified and full of the inevitable, and Jimmy knew that he was going to kiss him long before he finally leaned forward and closed the gap, curling his fingers more tightly round Thomas’ hand where they were already clasped as he did so. Thomas’ mouth was soft and warm, and even better than Jimmy had remembered when he had allowed himself to think of it at the times he was close enough to sleep for it not to count as conscious thought. However, despite the way Thomas’ breath caught in his chest at the contact, he pulled away from Jimmy’s mouth almost immediately, his jaw clenched, eyes shut as though in pain.

 

“Jimmy, don’t.” It was barely a whisper.

 

“Please,” Jimmy said, at a loss for what else to say. He leaned his forehead against Thomas’, feeling the way the other man’s breaths were hot and irregular against his lips, filling the tiny gap between their mouths. He didn’t even know what he was pleading for. “Thomas, please.”

 

This time when Jimmy pressed his lips against Thomas’, the other man didn’t resist, and just let Jimmy kiss him slowly and deeply, their hands crushed together where they were still pressed against Thomas’ chest. After a long moment, Jimmy felt Thomas’ eyes flutter closed against his cheek, and shifted closer on the piano stool, letting the hand that wasn’t entwined with Thomas’ cup his jaw, tilting his mouth to deepen the kiss. Jimmy lost himself in the feeling of the other man’s mouth, letting himself forget all rational thought. _Then stop thinking_ , Thomas had murmured to him what could have been hours ago but was probably only mere minutes.

 

Jimmy stopped thinking, and simply let the feelings which had been bubbling under the surface for months take over. He forgot all conscious thought and just kissed Thomas until his lungs felt as though they would burst from lack of oxygen. The kiss was like nothing he’d experienced before: it was different to last time, because this time he wasn’t running away, and because he had realised why he had before.

 

“Jimmy…” Thomas whispered against his lips between kisses. “Jimmy, Jimmy,” he breathed reverently, uttering the word like a kind of prayer. Jimmy remembered how the last time Thomas had said his name like that, he’d been afraid— but this time, it only made him grip Thomas tighter, kissing him more fiercely until they were both gasping and breathless, the sound of their uneven breathing filling the whole room. Thomas looked more wonderful than Jimmy had ever seen him: his lips were bruised and red, his eyes eclipsed by heavy, dark pupils, his usually pomaded hair ruffled from where Jimmy had clutched it as they’d kissed. But most of all, it was the complete and utter unguarded reverence with which Thomas gazed back at him breathlessly.

 

It was so wonderful that Jimmy surged forwards to press his mouth back against Thomas’ again, even though he was still out of breath. This time, Thomas’ hands came up to grip Jimmy round the waist, pulling him closer so that Jimmy swung round until he was straddling Thomas on the piano stool, cupping his jaw fiercely as he melded his mouth against the other man’s urgently, allowing himself to become lost in the feel of it and the way that Thomas’ fingers dug into his back, holding him as though he was something sacred. There were no questions or answers in it, and yet it made more sense to Jimmy than anything had for what felt like his entire life.

 

“Jimmy…” Thomas murmured wonderingly against Jimmy’s lips, the word catching in his throat and making him sound close to tears, as though he was a dying man who’d just been told he was going to live. Jimmy kissed him harder at the urgency in his voice, threading his fingers through Thomas’ inky hair and letting out a soft, breathless sound against the older man’s lips as Thomas clutched him closer, his tongue snaking into Jimmy’s mouth. Gasping against Thomas’ kisses, Jimmy dipped his head down to kiss at the pale skin of Thomas’ neck, hearing how Thomas sucked in his breath at the contact and his grip dug into Jimmy’s back.

 

“I’m not running away,” Jimmy mumbled, against the warm skin of Thomas’ neck, mouthing his way back up towards Thomas’ lips. “I’m not, I’m not,” he whispered blindly, sinking his mouth into Thomas again and feeling the groan that resonated through the other man’s chest when Jimmy rocked his hips forward into Thomas’, gasping into the kiss at the feel of Thomas’ hard cock straining at the wool of his trousers against his own. He did it again, and this time Thomas’ groan was audible in the silence of the deserted servants’ hall.

 

“We shouldn’t…” Thomas breathed hotly against Jimmy’s neck, making goosebumps erupt all down Jimmy’s spine where he mouthed the words against soft skin. “We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he finished, although his grip around Jimmy’s waist did not loosen, and he leaned into the kiss Jimmy pressed to his collarbone.

 

“I don’t care,” Jimmy said breathlessly, kissing him again.

 

“Someone might see us,” Thomas pushed Jimmy back, his chest rising and falling heavily. Jimmy could see how the flush that stood out high on his pale cheeks was spreading down his neck and under his collar. Jimmy began to tug impatiently at the studs there, but Thomas’ hands gently prevented him. “ _Jimmy_.”

 

“I don’t care, Thomas,” Jimmy insisted fervently, rocking his hips forward again and letting his forehead rest against Thomas’ as the pleasure thrummed through them. He couldn’t tell whose unsteady breaths belonged to whom, or where Thomas’ touch started and his ended; it was as if they were no longer separate entities but two combined which made more sense together than they ever had alone. Jimmy clung onto him, and found not only that he didn’t want to run away, but that he never wanted to let go of Thomas; to let go from this.

 

But even through the heady breaths and sweat and racing hearts, Thomas pushed him back again ever so slightly, although his hands did not stray from their grasp around Jimmy’s waist. “You will care,” he told Jimmy quietly with grey eyes that had turned black and swollen lips. “You will, when we both lose our jobs and go to prison.”

 

He hadn’t so much as uttered the words when Jimmy suddenly heard the sound of the back door and bubbling voices. It was like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart, and he clambered unsteadily off Thomas’ lap, shakily straightening his clothes and smoothing his hair with trembling hands. Beside him, Thomas did not get up but slicked his hair back off his face and did up the top few studs of his shirt where Jimmy’s eager fingers had been moments before. The sight of it made the enormity of what they had just done hit Jimmy at full force, making him feel as though he could scarcely draw a breath. The mounting panic was halted suddenly by a light touch against his wrist, and Jimmy looked round to find Thomas’ thumb ghosting across it.

 

“Why did you do that?” Thomas asked quietly, not letting go.

 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said wildly, frozen. The voices in the hallway were getting closer, but Thomas still held his gaze. “I don’t know, Thomas,” he mumbled again, shaking his head desperately.

 

The touch dropped away from Jimmy’s wrist.

 

“Come and find me when you’ve figured it out,” Thomas said so quietly it was barely audible. Jimmy looked at him, expecting to find the seamless expression smoothed back across his features, but Thomas’ cheeks were still flushed, his hair ruffled, his eyes wild and uncertain— but no longer full of resignation. That, more than anything else, struck Jimmy as though with a physical blow.

 

As the servants began to come into the hall, Jimmy felt as though they could see everything at a moments’ glance— not only his rumpled clothes and flushed face and kiss-bruised lips, but also the way his heart was beating faster than it ever had in his life and his head was so full of thoughts it felt as though it was going to explode. He ducked his head, cheeks burning, the crowd of people in the doorway making it impossible to escape without being noticed.  

 

“You missed a great show, Jimmy,” Ivy said excitedly, coming across to where he was standing with Daisy in tow. Her voice was somehow dulled, as though Jimmy wasn’t really standing beside the piano in front of her.

 

He tried to respond, but found he had lost his words. He looked at Thomas, who was still looking at him more openly than he ever had. Jimmy was finally seeing the Thomas he had been searching for ever since they’d started asking questions, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Thomas held his gaze until Jimmy felt as though he would be drowned by it, and then he was stumbling away from what he’d been searching for all along, pushing blindly past Ivy and Daisy, ignoring the worried calls that echoed after him. His footsteps echoed against the stairs almost as feverishly as his heart pounded behind the confines of his ribs.

 

He didn’t stop until he was safely in the darkness of his own silent room, Thomas’ kiss still stinging on his lips like an open wound.

 

 

~

 

 

The hallway was dark and silent when Jimmy stepped out of his room, as though he was stepping into the night itself. Normally he might have felt unnerved by it, but somehow the pitch black of the corridor somehow gave him comfort. He could almost convince himself that he didn’t exist in it, and if he didn’t, then what he was doing wouldn’t either in the light of day.

 

After fleeing the servants’ hall with his own heartbeat ringing in his ears, Jimmy had sat on his bed in the darkness, pulse fluttering so erratically it was almost impossible to form any semblance of thought. No matter how long he’d sat there until well after the house had gone silent around him and all the lights had been turned off, Jimmy couldn’t make his mind up. 

 

Thomas’ door was third along from his on the opposite side of the corridor, and the doorknob was icy cold and smooth against Jimmy’s sweaty palm when he fumbled to find it. All around him, the quiet pressed in, amplifying his thoughts so that he felt as though they took up all the space in the darkness. For a long while he simply stood there helplessly, frozen with one hand on the doorknob, torn between going in and creeping back to his own room and forgetting he had ever left it. But the thought of doing so made his heart feel so heavy in his chest it was as though he was drowning, and although there was no soft ebb of light from under the door, he somehow felt as though Thomas knew he was standing outside.

 

He waited there until his thoughts were so loud he could no longer hear them, and he knew there was only one true way to answer all the questions that made him feel as though he was going to burst.

 

Jimmy took a deep breath, and opened the door.

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smile spread across Thomas’ features, transforming them. It wasn’t filled with the lingering sadness that had always seemed to haunt all smiles and laughter before. It was unlike any smile he’d ever given Jimmy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I know it's been a while since I posted anything on this account... I'm so sorry I never got round to completing this when I said I would. Real life just kind of took over. Anyway, I was going through my laptop hard drive yesterday and I stumbled across this - it's the final chapter of this story. I never quite edited it as much as I would have liked to, so it's a little rough in comparison to some of the other chapters, but I thought you guys might like to read it and (finally) get the ending anyway (if any of you are even still interested in reading this after two years of silence). 
> 
> On another note, I cannot thank you all enough for reading and commenting on this story - it's crazy how many hits and kudos it has. I feel genuinely humbled by all the support I received while writing this, both on here and over on my tumblr. Thank you all so much. I hope you enjoy the (extremely belated!) final chapter. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and I hope you all have a wonderful 2018! <3 
> 
> Shoutout to my sister for bullying me into posting this, and to Shannon, who has given me so much amazing support with my writing and is just generally amazing.

Thomas’ room was only marginally less dark than the corridor, but the moment Jimmy stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him, he felt overwhelmingly lost in the heady shadows that enveloped him. It was only the luminescence of the winter moon and its frail glow that ebbed through the curtains, illuminating the vague outlines of furniture, which allowed Jimmy to gather his bearings in a moment in which he felt he had none. All around him, the darkness was still and intent like tideless water, heaving with the resonance of his frantic heartbeat and the familiar aromatic scent of Thomas’ pomade mingled with the smoke of the cigarettes they’d shared together on all those days which suddenly seemed so far away from this one. 

 

It was so quiet that it felt deafening; the silence rang in Jimmy’s ears, engulfing him. Under the crumpled cotton of his shirt, he could feel his heart racing so hotly and wildly he wasn’t sure if its beat was actually audible in the darkness, or if it was just the blood pounding correspondingly in his ears and drowning out all the meaningless thoughts that had overwhelmed him for so long.

 

For a split second, Jimmy contemplated turning back— but then the bedsprings creaked quietly, breaking the potency of the silence, and a dark shape sat up by the window, smudging the symmetry of the shadowed room and the fevered rhythm of Jimmy’s heart and thoughts.

 

“… Jimmy?” Thomas’ voice ventured through the immeasurable darkness that stretched between them, low and alert as though he hadn’t been remotely close to sleep, even though it had been hours since everyone had gone up to bed and the last lights in the house had been extinguished. Hearing it and wondering how long Thomas had been lying there alone in the same dark in which Jimmy stood now, tossing and turning and thinking just like he’d been earlier that night— for so many nights— made the reality of where he was finally hit home. The midnight pulsed in the darkness, intensifying everything, and Jimmy wasn’t sure whether he was full of fear or anticipation.

 

He swallowed, his heart in his throat, trapping everything he was desperate to say and instead making him feel strangely close to tears.

 

“I’m here,” he mumbled, in a voice that shook around the two tremulous words, betraying how uncertain he was truly feeling. “I’m here,” he said again, quieter, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

 

The bedsprings creaked again, and suddenly Jimmy could see Thomas silhouetted perfectly against the fragile moonlight refracting the shadows in the small room. There was silence for several long moments; Jimmy watched as Thomas’ silhouette gradually got closer, cautiously approaching Jimmy where he stood by the door, half out of his mind, torn between running two different ways, but never having felt more alive in his life.

 

“Jimmy,” Thomas repeated disbelievingly, his voice so quiet and close that this time Jimmy could almost feel the warmth of the other man’s exhale against his lips as he spoke. “Why are you here?” The question wasn’t accusing or incredulous, but surprisingly gentle— as if he had half expected to find Jimmy there, but simultaneously hadn’t dared believe it. Even as he stood there, Jimmy still didn’t know if he believed it himself.

 

“You know why,” he whispered, unconsciously echoing the words that Thomas had spoken to him so long ago, on the day that had changed everything.

 

For a moment, Thomas moved as though to reach out for Jimmy— but seemed to stop himself at the last minute, and so the air between them remained like a wall that neither seemed to have the courage to break. For what seemed like an eternity to Jimmy, they both stood there in the darkness, unspeaking, as though words were useless to them.

 

All that Jimmy could see was Thomas standing before him, lit up by the monochrome glow of the moon. He couldn’t see the other man’s expression, but Jimmy was standing so close that he could almost taste the unspoken utterances in the air between them, and he knew that if it had been light enough to see, he could have counted the tiny brown flecks in Thomas’ grey irises as he trembled before him; see the two tiny reflections of himself in Thomas’ inky black pupils and instead of not recognising himself, realise that perhaps he recognised himself there best of all.

 

The dark corridor gaped behind him in an empty abyss, his vision was clouded with moonlit shapes, and all he could see was Thomas. It had been the same from the very beginning, Jimmy suddenly realised with startling clarity; long before they had started the questions, maybe even before the day of the fair, Thomas had been all that he could see. It had just taken not being able to see him in this darkened room, where Jimmy felt his heart would beat so fast it might implode, to realise that Thomas was not only all he was able to see— but also all that he wanted to see.

 

“You love me,” Jimmy murmured breathlessly, his words shaking in the darkness that made everything so much easier to utter. He stepped infinitesimally closer, so that Thomas’ silhouette completely obscured the weak moonlight, and he could feel the catch in the other man’s breath in the tiny space between them at the increase in proximity.

 

Thomas did not reply; it had not been a question, Jimmy knew, merely something which he had never voiced before but known all along.

 

“Thomas,” Jimmy said simply, half-whispering the name that had come to mean so much. He could feel the weight of Thomas’ gaze on him even though they were both blind in the darkness, and he was filled with a sudden impulsive courage to do the only thing left that made sense.

 

Slowly, tremblingly, he reached out, seeking Thomas’ hand in the darkness. The feel of the older man’s warm, smooth skin against his own made Jimmy’s heart beat faster still as he laced his fingers through Thomas’, and felt Thomas’ wordless reply squeeze them in response. The silken, puckered scar-tissue from his wound formed a heart-shaped lump under Jimmy’s grasp, for once not covered by the leather glove. Tentatively, Jimmy lifted his other hand to find Thomas’ face in the shadows. It was dark enough that it was as though his eyes were closed already, but Jimmy shut them anyway as he reached out uncertainly, stroking his trembling fingers along the sharp lines of Thomas’ cheekbones, down to his lips to trace their fullness, their shape; the words that Thomas had never uttered but which they both knew.

 

“Can I?” Jimmy whispered, and they were already so close that he felt his mouth brush lightly against Thomas’ with the question he’d never had the courage to ask, and had to resist the urge to press into the warmth of them and lose himself. Of all the questions he’d asked Thomas, it was one he hadn’t, because he’d been too afraid to acknowledge the answer he really wanted. Now he realised that perhaps, it had been the one he’d wanted to ask all along— but instead of asking it, he had buried it in a myriad of others which allowed him to skirt around this one that was the crux of all the others, enabling him to hide from the truth a little longer. But he didn’t need to any more.

 

“Yes,” Thomas let out the word in a rush of breath that sounded as though it had been trapped inside him forever. He exhaled again, and Jimmy could hear the tremor in it. “Yes.”

 

Slowly, deliberately, heart pounding with the enormity of what he was about to do, Jimmy tilted his head upwards to press his trembling lips resolutely against Thomas’ soft mouth, gripping the other man tightly so that his hands couldn’t shake anymore.

 

For one awful, fleeting moment, Jimmy thought that Thomas was going to pull away— but then he let out a quiet, desperate sound against Jimmy’s mouth and started to kiss him back like he had never truly allowed himself to before. It was slow and deep, and implemented with such an intensity that it made Jimmy’s head spin and his toes curl as he leant into the arms Thomas wound around him, pulling them together tightly so that their chests were crushed together, heartbeats beating in fevered sync.

 

If Jimmy had thought the stolen kisses he’d broken away from twice before had been wonderful, they were nothing to this. Thomas was kissing him as though he’d wanted to forever and never believed he would; it was like their first kiss and last kisses all at once, and all the ones in-between. His hands were fierce around Jimmy’s waist, holding him so close it almost hurt and Jimmy could feel the tremble of the other man’s fingers where they were pressed urgently into the grooves of his spine; his mouth was hot and tender as they kissed breathlessly, lost in each other, the world dark and silent around them as they stood in the room that was barely touched by moonlight, but beheld by the gleam of the hundreds of tiny, unblinking stars that adorned the winter cloud.

 

Jimmy felt as though the world which had been spinning since he’d been knocked to the ground that day at the fair finally stood still, and, although it was dark, he could suddenly see everything with such clarity that the beauty of it was overwhelming.

 

When they pulled apart for breath, Jimmy’s head was spinning instead of the rest of the world, and he knew he never wanted it to stop. He dipped his head to kiss Thomas’ neck, breathing in the potent scent that had so often thrown him when he stood too close. Instead, he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to the flesh there, letting it drown him; letting unreserved, helpless sounds that Thomas made drown him. Jimmy kissed the vulnerable skin at Thomas’ jugular where he could feel the feverish thrum of the other man’s pulse, the lines of his collarbones, the join of his shoulders— until Thomas fingertips dug almost painfully into Jimmy’s spine and his breathing was hot and uncontrolled against the flush of Jimmy’s cheek and Jimmy could feel the hard line Thomas’ erection pressed against his hip.

 

“I never thought,” Thomas murmured indistinctly between breaths as Jimmy sucked more ardent, bruising kisses to his neck. “… I never thought you could want this.”

 

He suddenly tensed and pulled away from Jimmy’s fervent mouth, breathing hard, his hands lingering around Jimmy’s waist. “Are you really certain you do?” The question was almost inaudible in the dark, and instead of being hidden behind the characteristic impassivity Jimmy had become so used to trying to unmask, it was low and urgent, full of fear. In that single sentence, Jimmy could hear for the first time, unhidden, just how much he meant to Thomas, and it made his heart hurt with every beat to realise it.

 

“Thomas,” Jimmy whispered again as reply, as though the other man’s name answered everything— and maybe it did. He let the shape of it grace his lips like the answer to all the questions he’d been set on asking, and then they were kissing again, more intently and deeply than before, as though this time they both believed that it was real.

 

Jimmy’s grip tightened urgently where he held Thomas’ face, and Thomas slid his hands up to run through Jimmy’s hair, causing the latter to sigh softly and sink into the oblivion of the kiss. Thomas’ mouth was hot and wet, his tongue twining with Jimmy’s and causing shocks of pleasure to shoot down Jimmy’s spine. Low, heavy arousal built in his groin as he kissed back urgently and unreservedly as if he would never get to again. Jimmy had spent his whole life caught up in other things— perhaps because he had been too afraid to just stop and exist for fear he might discover something real— but now with Thomas in his arms, he never wanted the moment to end.

 

“Tell me to stop,” Thomas murmured helplessly between kisses, his lips hot and reverent against Jimmy’s jaw; his neck; the hollow between his collar bones. His hands trembled too now where they held Jimmy, as though he was afraid to believe he was real.

 

“Don’t,” Jimmy whispered in reply, sliding his hands under the cotton of Thomas’ nightshirt and feeling the warm, soft skin and hard muscle he’d wanted to explore since they’d sat together at the piano earlier that evening. As his fingers skittered across the dents of Thomas’ spine, the groove of his ribs, the hardened peaks of his nipples, Jimmy felt the low groan resonate in Thomas’ chest under his fingertips and from where they were pressed together. The hard line of Thomas’ erection strained against his hip, making arousal pool heavily in Jimmy’s stomach. “Don’t ever stop,” Jimmy breathed fervently, fumbling for the buttons on Thomas’ pyjama shirt and arching up into him, making the latter moan softly into Jimmy’s increasingly impassioned kisses.

 

He sounded unlike Jimmy had ever known him; he sounded completely unguarded, and the way he held Jimmy was reverent and tender. Jimmy had always thought that to see the full extent of Thomas’ feelings for him would be terrifying, but instead he found he was happy to drown in it, as if it had been what he’d wanted all along. He’d wanted to know Thomas all along, and now for the first time, he felt as though he truly did. It was no longer just fleeting glimpses whenever Thomas was caught off guard, snatches of truth— it was pure, unadulterated reality, and it was better than Jimmy could ever have imagined.

 

Clothes were discarded in a frenzy of trembling heartbeats and half-stolen kisses, and instead of feeling overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity and enormity of the situation, Jimmy found himself more turned on than he had ever been in his life. Grinding up against Thomas and gasping aloud at the feeling of Thomas’ hard, hot skin against his own, Jimmy pulled them both blindly in the direction of the bed and tumbled them both to the sheets. The cotton was still lingering with warmth from where Thomas had lain all those nights awake while Jimmy had done exactly the same across the hall, his tormented thoughts consumed by the man now in his arms. He had somehow expected to feel terrified by relinquishing control, as though by allowing this to happen he would be allowing Thomas to take over— but it didn’t feel so much like losing control as revelling in freedom.

 

The silence of the room fragmented with half-stifled gasps and fevered breathing, Jimmy found himself manoeuvred onto his back, breathing hard. Thomas pressed feather-light, intent kisses to his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his mouth— and then paused for a moment, hovering above Jimmy, but still close enough for Jimmy to feel the rapid rise and fall of the other man’s chest, and the hardness pressed into his hip. He found himself surprised by the surge of power he felt to know that he had caused it.

 

It was still too dark to see properly; the tentative moonlight only allowed for the shadows and lines of Thomas’ face and body, but Jimmy could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on him. Their hips still rocked together in minute movements, rendering Jimmy breathless.

 

“What is it?” Jimmy asked quietly, surprised by how much his trembling voice sounded like his own in the heat of the night. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he felt sure that Thomas could hear it resonate through the quiet of the room— or maybe it was Thomas’ that he was hearing, racing his own in the dark.

 

“I wish I could see you,” Thomas whispered his breathless reply, the words brushing Jimmy’s lips lightly. “That way… That way perhaps I could convince myself this is real.”

 

Jimmy sat up, cradling Thomas’ face in his hands. He felt the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the hint of stubble on the smooth skin. “It is real,” he murmured, and then they were kissing again; slow, deep kisses that gradually worked themselves up into a crescendo of stifled groans and fevered touches. Thomas’ hands roamed over the planes of Jimmy’s body, as though mapping out all the places he’d never thought he’d be allowed to see. He rubbed his thumb over Jimmy’s right nipple, eliciting a low moan from Jimmy, who felt a jolt of arousal thrum though him at the simple touch. He arched up into Thomas, grinding into him needily.

 

“Thomas… please…” Jimmy moaned restlessly into the other man’s shoulder as Thomas continued to thumb the stiff peak of his nipple. In response, Thomas trailed his other hand down past Jimmy’s bellybutton, circling lightly around his hipbone.

 

“Can I?” Thomas asked, his voice controlled, but full of emotion that made Jimmy’s heart swell in his chest. He couldn’t help being aware of the echo of his earlier question, as he nodded fervently.

 

When Thomas’ long, dextrous fingers curled around the head of his cock, Jimmy let a cry which his barely managed to stifle by biting down on Thomas’ neck, in turn eliciting a groan from the other man. Jimmy felt Thomas’ cock twitch where it was pressed against his hipbone as Thomas began to work his hand up and down Jimmy’s shaft, and his breathing become as laboured as Jimmy’s.

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Thomas murmured indistinctly into Jimmy’s neck, his lips hot against the skin there, his hand moving faster over Jimmy’s cock.

 

“Wait…” Jimmy groaned, and Thomas’ hand instantly stilled. Jimmy could detect the fear and uncertainty radiating from the other man, so hurriedly added, “I want more… Thomas, I want all of it,” Jimmy tried to regain control over his feverish breathing, feeling how his cheeks were flushed with desire. “Please… Thomas…”  

 

Thomas didn’t say anything for a moment, his fingers just circling the curve of Jimmy’s hip. “Will you still want this tomorrow?” he murmured, irrevocable sadness laced through the words as though he didn’t believe that Jimmy could. Jimmy himself didn’t quite trust himself to speak; his thoughts were blurred with the headiness of his lust and the thump of his heart, and the truth was that he didn’t trust himself to know how he would feel when it was light and he could no longer pretend that all this had happened behind a pair of closed eyes. All he knew was that he had never wanted anything more than he wanted Thomas in this moment.

 

In lieu of replying, Jimmy pressed his lips softly against Thomas’ kiss-swollen ones and slowly traced his hand down Thomas’ torso until his fingers were curling round the hot, hard skin of the other man’s cock. Thomas barely managed to stifle groan that Jimmy felt resonate between them, and as Jimmy slowly pumped his hand up and down, Thomas sucked passionate, bruising kisses to his neck.

 

“I want this,” Jimmy murmured breathlessly; truthfully. He wanted it so much he felt dizzy, his heart felt as though it might implode in his chest from being confined behind his ribs. Trembling half from the enormity of what they were doing, but more from desire, he guided Thomas’ fingers into him, gasping at the sensation that was so unlike any he had ever experienced before.

 

“God… Jimmy…” Thomas sounded choked as his fingers stretched Jimmy, his other hand still pumping Jimmy’s cock. The sheer overwhelmed desire potent in Thomas’ voice sent a jolt of arousal through Jimmy and he groaned, arching up into Thomas’ touch. Then suddenly Thomas’ fingers brushed against something inside him that made him cry out loud, only just managing to clamp a hand over his mouth in time to stifle the sound. White-hot pleasure coursed through him like a wave, and he bucked his hips forwards, imploring Thomas to do it again.

 

“Jimmy…” Thomas breathed, fingers hitting the spot again. Jimmy couldn’t see him through the darkness, but he could almost feel the intensity of the lust he knew would be eclipsing the grey of Thomas’ eyes. He reached out, brushing a slightly damp tendril of dark hair out of Thomas’ eyes and leaning his forehead against Thomas’ as they moved together. He could feel the hot rush of breath against his lips from the other man, feel the flutter of his eyelids against his flushed cheek.

 

Jimmy’s cock was leaking where it pressed against Thomas’, and he suddenly became aware that he wasn’t going to last much longer if Thomas continued to do what he was doing.

 

“I’m ready,” Jimmy mumbled breathlessly against Thomas’ lips, feeling the rapid intake of breath the other man took in response. He reached down, stroking the hard, silken skin of Thomas’ cock. Thomas kissed him, hotly and blissfully, holding Jimmy’s head between his hands as though it was something precious and breakable. Trembling, Jimmy kissed him back as he guided Thomas’ already leaking cock into him.

 

At first, the painful stretch of it was overwhelming; the feeling of someone else being inside him. But soon the realisation that it was Thomas inside him took over, just like Thomas had taken over his mind, and the pain melted into a pleasure unlike one Jimmy had ever known.

 

Thomas’ lips were pressed against the jugular of Jimmy’s throat in unfinished, fragmented kisses as tentatively he began to move. Overwhelmed, Jimmy dug his fingernails into Thomas’ back and began to thrust up into the other man’s movements, wondering how this could ever have been something that terrified him. He felt alive with it; he could feel the heat of Thomas inside him, taste the salt of the sweat that had built up between them and made their movements slick and fluid. It felt like an epiphany, but the intensity of the pleasure clouded all coherent thought from Jimmy’s mind, rendering him incapable of uttering it.

 

And in the moment, Jimmy felt as though he was truly seeing Thomas the way he had been wanting to all along, even though it was so dark it was as though they were both only existing behind Thomas’ closed eyelids. There was none of the impassivity or guardedness that made Thomas usually impossible to know. Instead, he was unreserved, unguarded, and so full of unreserved adoration that it made Jimmy’s heart hurt. He held on tightly, suddenly filled with the fear that when it was over he would never get to see this Thomas again— the one he’d been searching for for so long and had only glimpsed during late nights by the fire, or under the frosty light of the stars.

 

“Thomas,” he breathed, as the pleasure built uncontrollably inside him, tingling in his fingertips where they dug into Thomas’ sweaty skin and making his cock leak pre-cum where it strained against Thomas’ stomach. With every thrust, waves of pleasure rolled uncontrollably through Jimmy, making him gasp out, clinging tighter still to Thomas.

 

“I love you, I love you,” Thomas whispered reverently in response as they rocked together, the words he’d never uttered before so unguarded and sincere that Jimmy suddenly felt overwhelmingly close to tears. He gripped Thomas fiercely, guiding their mouths together so that both their words were lost in wild half-kisses that broke Jimmy’s heart and seemed to fix it all at once when the pleasure that had been building in Jimmy’s groin reached its peak and spilled over.

 

“Thomas,” Jimmy gasped out as he came, his vision blurring out with stars. He was dimly aware of Thomas’ muffled moan as he followed suit, spilling deep inside of Jimmy, and then they were both lying in a sweaty, sated tangle of limbs as their breathing gradually slowed and the darkness around them seemed to fade into shadows and pale moonlight.

 

After several, long moments, Thomas leaned in and kissed him softly. It was different to the way he’d kissed Jimmy before; Jimmy didn’t miss the tenderness of it, how Thomas stroked a thumb through the damp locks of hair on Jimmy’s forehead. It felt like the kiss you’d give someone you knew you were never going to see again. Jimmy desperately wanted to open his mouth, to tell Thomas that he wasn’t going anywhere— but the enormity of what they’d done had erased all coherent thought from his head and exhaustion washed over him almost as powerfully as the waves of pleasure that had rolled over him moments before.

 

For several, long moments they simply lay together in the darkness, linked together by their tangled limbs and gradually slowing heartbeats. Jimmy wanted to say something— say everything— but somehow couldn’t bring himself to find the right words. It was as though the darkness had obscured his thoughts as well as his vision. Instead, he reached out to wind his fingers round Thomas’ and let himself drift towards slumber. As he was on the brink of unconsciousness, he felt Thomas’ fingers disentangling themselves from his own— but even in his sleepiness, Jimmy held on, interlacing their fingers more tightly until his hand hurt from the sincerity of his grasp.

 

Just before Jimmy faded into dreams, he was aware of the fingers squeezing his gently, as though memorising the gaps between his fingers like they were never going to be there again. 

 

 

 

~

 

 

When Jimmy awoke, it was still dark. The space beside him in the bed was empty, but the scent of Thomas lingered on the sheets and on Jimmy’s own bare skin. As consciousness gradually washed over him, it was there for the very first time, lying in a bed that didn’t belong to him with his heart beating softly from slumber and his skin smelling of someone else, that Jimmy understood. He suddenly truly understood the reality of the answers he’d known all along but had somehow evaded. It was as though he’d not only awoken from sleep, but also from the blindness of fear that had shrouded his thoughts for so long, and the wonderful simplicity of just _knowing_ overwhelmed him. He stared up at the ceiling above in wonder like it was made of stars, remembering all the times he’d gazed up at his own and wondered if Thomas was doing the same in the bed in which Jimmy lay now.

 

Thomas’ cigarettes and lighter were gone from the bedside table, and Jimmy suddenly knew where the other man would be. He threw back the bedcovers and pulled back on his rumpled livery that had been cast to the floor, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the fastenings, but for once not from fear. He somehow knew that that fear had disappeared somewhere in his slumber and was something that he would never feel again.

 

The halls were pitch black as he tiptoed down the spiralling staircase as fast as he dared, feeling half in a dream and half as though nothing could be more real. The early morning winter air stung his skin as he stepped out into the delivery yard where he and Thomas had so often stood and smoked, and kept on walking.

 

Above him, the stars were still out, winking in the fading indigo.

 

Frost glittered in the beginnings of the pink dawn that blushed the sky, and the first glimmers of weak golden sunlight peaked over the icy tips of the conifers. Thomas was standing at the edge of the walled garden, silhouetted in the tentative early morning light, smoke curling porously into the air from between his fingers in a way that made him look as though he was an illusion that would disappear with a breath of wind. Ash fell to the frozen grass at his feet as he gazed out over the rolling, black countryside that stretched out endlessly under the nebulous sky with a resigned sort of peacefulness.

 

Even though he’d been so anxious to see Thomas as soon as possible; to tell him what he’d realised, Jimmy suddenly just wanted to stand there and drink in the image forever. For uncountable moments, he simply stood there, looking at Thomas in wonder, breathless from his haste to reach the very place he’d been standing all along.

 

He didn’t realise how long he’d stood there until Thomas turned around. Their gazes met, and something subtler than surprise registered in Thomas’ unguarded grey one, making the rawness there melt away like clouds that had run out of rain— and then suddenly Jimmy couldn’t get to him fast enough. His footsteps crunched rapidly across the icy black grass where granules of frost glimmered like a thousand stars waiting to be crushed. Jimmy stood on them anyway to get to Thomas.

 

“I figured it all out,” Jimmy blurted breathlessly, the words curling up into the frozen air. “What you’ve been trying to get me to realise all along. All these questions— you kept asking me why they were so important. It’s because of you, Thomas. You’re right, there is no huge, wonderful explanation— or maybe it is, actually— but it’s all so simple I didn’t see it for so long. All those stupid questions I kept asking when there was really only one answer, only I didn’t want to see what it was.”

 

Thomas still looked uncertain, wrong-footed by Jimmy’s sudden blurted words— so Jimmy leant up and kissed him. He kissed him until he could no longer remember the guarded expression in Thomas’ eyes. He kissed him until the cold air felt warm against his stinging cheeks. He kissed him until nothing else existed, and his heart felt as though it would burst.

 

When they parted, breathing heavily, Thomas’ cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were guarded again as though he didn’t know how he was allowed to look at Jimmy, and so Jimmy whispered the words he’d been trying to swallow down for so long:

 

“I love you.”

 

The words hung in the air for a moment, frozen stars, before dispersing into the icy air like flakes of snow. A slow, quiet smile pulled at the corners of Thomas’ mouth and lit up his grey eyes so that they stole all the colours around them. The smile spread across Thomas’ features, transforming them. It wasn’t filled with the lingering sadness that had always seemed to haunt all smiles and laughter before. It was unlike any smile he’d ever given Jimmy; it lit up his whole face until his eyes glittered with such pure happiness that Jimmy felt he would cry to look at them. His heart swelled in his chest until he felt sure it would implode from the sheer intensity of the emotion it was trying to contain.

 

Wordlessly, Thomas enveloped Jimmy in a swift, tight embrace, his lips pressed against the tender skin of Jimmy’s neck so that Jimmy could feel the stifled breaths there along with the thump of Thomas’ heart pressed against his own like it was always meant to be.

 

Jimmy wrapped his arms round Thomas tightly, pressing his own uncontrollable smile into Thomas’ shoulder. _The best things in life are those you can’t explain_ , Anna had told him the day he’d run away from the reflections he hadn’t recognised in Thomas’ eyes. And for the first time in years, as Jimmy stood there in the frosty dawn with Thomas’ smile pressed against his neck, he didn’t feel the need to explain anything at all.

 

Above them, the last few stars glittered amidst the rising winter sun, simply existing without question.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for reading! This is my first fic in this fandom, so I hope it's alright. It should have about 15 installments, so I'll post the next part when I can. Hope you enjoyed reading- comments would be hugely appreciated; I'd love to know your thoughts so far! c:


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